


His Executive Sweetheart (I'll Put The Coffee On)

by sunsetmog



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Harlequin, M/M, Office Romance, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-07
Updated: 2011-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:23:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 34,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetmog/pseuds/sunsetmog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a bored but efficient executive assistant, Ryan Ross wasn't supposed to have fallen madly, hopelessly in love with his boss. Especially when his boss was business mogul and confirmed bachelor (and old childhood friend) Spencer Smith. His best friends were convinced that only one thing would get Spencer to notice him, and that was a makeover. But if he lets them have their way, then how is Ryan to ever really know for sure if Spencer likes Ryan for real?</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Executive Sweetheart (I'll Put The Coffee On)

**Author's Note:**

> With many, many thanks to the people who read this through for me: rubbishgroupie, who first read it when it was only a draft and left me her reactions in a voicemail (<333) in order to stop me deleting the whole file, and liketheroad, who championed it and sent me emails which made me beam; miznarrator, who talked this over with me over coffee in Starbucks, and then sent me a detailed beta as well, vensre, whose comments were super-helpful (and mint-green), and stepps, who didn't seem to mind when I sent her an email mid-beta to tell her I'd changed the ending and would she mind reading the new version instead. Still, any errors and accidental British-isms are entirely down to me.
> 
> This is loosely based on His Executive Sweetheart by Christine Rimmer. It quite closely follows the storyline of the first couple of chapters, before entirely verging off in its own direction, mostly because this was as far as I got with the book before I gave up. Both the original blurb (minus the accidental pregnancy part; this was ridiculous enough without attempting to make Ryan pregnant half way through) and the slightly adjusted Panic version can be found below.
> 
> As a prim-and-proper executive assistant, Celia Tuttle wasn't supposed to have fallen madly, hopelessly in love with her boss. Especially when her boss was business mogul and confirmed bachelor Aaron Bravo. Only one thing would get him to notice her and that was a makeover… How was Aaron to convince her that his honorable proposal came from love?
> 
> (As an aside, how could anyone, ever, resist a book where the hero and the heroine were Aaron and Celia?)
> 
> Anyway, thank you to harlequin_bands for giving me the inspiration to start this – I am a not-so secret sucker for romance novels with all their tropes and styles and just could not resist the opportunity to wallow in the genre for a while.
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://sunsetmog-fics.livejournal.com/34019.html) on 19th September 2008

The epiphany hit on Valentines Day. The irony wasn't lost on Ryan.

It was a little after eight in the morning and Ryan Ross was supposed to be taking notes. They were high up in the executive tower of the Pas de Cheval Resort and Casino, overlooking the Las Vegas strip and—other than the date—everything was much the same as it always was.

Spencer Smith, Ryan's boss, was leaning back in his chair and breathing in the aroma of the large mug of coffee Ryan had just poured for him, occasionally tapping at his keyboard, all while giving Ryan his usual, daily set of instructions that Ryan scribbled down and then rehashed into something resembling a set of emails Spencer put his name to.

(Occasionally Spencer would stick his head around the door after he came back from lunch and say, "Are you bored or something, Ross? You seem to have—uh - embellished my emails a little."

Ryan had to admit that he found the language of hotel business sometimes lacked the nuance of metaphor that Ryan tended to appreciate in writing. Most people tended to assume that because Ryan had majored in accounting with a minor in business management, and because he had a job as Spencer Smith's personal secretary and executive assistant, he had no interest in the shifts and moods of the English language. He did.

Sometimes Spencer's emails suffered as a result. Ryan would always offer to rewrite them if Spencer really wanted him to, but Spencer never did. He'd just grin and say that the Vice President could do with extra flourish in his life now and again.)

But on Valentines Day, Spencer was distracted, tapping his fingers on the edge of the desk and staring out of the window. He looked tired, shadows smudging under his eyes, and Ryan knew that Spencer had been staying in the office much later than normal for the past couple of weeks. "We need to do something about that river rapids ride," he told Ryan, rubbing at his eyes.

Ryan scribbled it down in his notebook. The resort had its own water park but it was getting to the stage where its popularity was impacting on the number of people spending time in the casino itself. The water park was all very well but it didn't bring in the same kinds of profits as the casino.

"Get in touch with the VP," Spencer said, gulping back the coffee and wiping his mouth. "Schedule a meeting—if he tries to put you off till next week just tell him we'll put the rapids entrance price up so much no one will ride the stupid thing. Shut the damn thing down for all I care."

Ryan looked up from his notes, ready to ask Spencer if anyone else needed to be included in the meeting invite, and his breath caught in his throat.

Spencer had arched his hips off the chair so that he could pull out a handkerchief from his pants pocket. Sitting back down, he wiped at his mouth and reached for a clipboard of papers on his desk, sliding down in his chair a little so that he could put his handkerchief back in his pocket. He said something about the Las Vegas Planning Commission that Ryan barely picked up on, because all of a sudden, Ryan's world had tilted on its axis and frozen, just for a moment.

 _Spencer._

Ryan's swallowed down a gasp. The rushing in his ears became such that he could barely hear Spencer talking.

Spencer Smith was utterly, stupidly good looking, and Ryan was about to curse himself for not realizing it sooner.

It wasn't even as if looking at Spencer Smith was a particularly new thing; Ryan had been working under him for just over two years, and they'd even been friends when they were kids, before Ryan had moved away. It wasn't that Ryan hadn't abstractly noticed that Spencer was an attractive man, either, because he had. Spencer _was_ a handsome man. He was tall and muscular—inclined to softness if he didn't work out for an hour before coming into the office every morning—with dark blond hair and the kind of exquisitely cut suits that Ryan could only dream of being able to afford. Spencer flew to New York four times a year to meet with his tailor; Ryan knew because he booked the flights.

And all of a sudden, seemingly completely out of the blue, Ryan realized that he was in love with him.

Ryan desperately tried to think back through their working relationship to try and pinpoint when things might have changed, but he just couldn't time the shift from boss to—to something entirely different.

Spencer Smith was twenty six. He worked for one of the busiest hotel-resorts on the Las Vegas strip; he was handsome, rich, and a hopeless over-achiever with an exorbitant salary and three vacations a year.

Ryan was twenty seven and a secretary. His university major had failed to interest him to such an extent that he'd spent most of the time skipping class and reading in the college library. He hardly knew anybody in Las Vegas and spent most of his free time in his apartment, instant messaging his friends in Chicago and writing. He was mostly broke, terminally bored and there was no way on earth Spencer would ever look twice at him.

Spencer was still talking, reeling off instructions and scrolling through windows on his computer, flicking through the papers on his knee as he finished off his coffee. It didn't matter so much that Ryan wasn't paying attention to what Spencer was saying, because, as always, Ryan had his digital recorder propped up on the desk, recording whatever he didn't catch on paper.

Ryan's skin was itching. He was too hot; sweat prickled across his spine and under his collar and he wanted nothing more than to roll up his sleeves and loosen his tie, pop the top button of his shirt open and take a moment to catch his breath. Spencer was talking but Ryan wasn't listening to a word. All he could do was stare across the desk at Spencer and wonder how he could have worked with him for so long and not have realized that he loved him.

Ryan's relationship with Spencer had never been anything other than professional. Working alongside Spencer certainly had its benefits—Ryan had points in the company and a benefits package that he couldn't sniff at - but Ryan had no reason to think that Spencer noticed him as anything other than an employee. They never even talked about the fact that they'd been friends when they were kids; that they'd lived down the street from each other and spent three summers in and out of each other's houses.

Spencer engendered a certain degree of resentment from other employees - and by extension, Ryan too, but Ryan just raised an eyebrow and got on with his job - although that was mostly professional jealousy. Spencer was young and powerful and rich. He'd graduated top of his class, gotten an MBA from one of the best schools in the country and had subsequently played the stock market so ruthlessly and so efficiently that it was a badly kept secret that he'd been a millionaire by the time he'd celebrated turning twenty five. The rumor mill had him pegged as a risk-taker, and while he was certainly tough and uncompromising, completely at home in the boardroom, Ryan had never seen him take any uncalculated, unnecessary risks.

By contrast, Ryan had scraped by in college, resentful because his disliked major had been the only one his mom would pay for. He'd moved back to Las Vegas after graduating because his dad was sick, and for the first couple of years he'd lived in Summerlin with his dad, working a crappy secretarial job in the finance division of a paper manufacturing company.

His job with Spencer had come about partly by accident. They'd bumped into each other in the mall and vaguely recognized each other. In among the small talk, Ryan had expressed his wish to find another job. Spencer had shrugged and given Ryan his card, saying that there might be something coming up in his office.

Working at the resort included a suite of rooms in the executive tower, and paid just enough that Ryan could cover the costs of a home nurse for his father for a few hours every day. What was left of his paycheck every month didn't leave much room for negotiation, but Ryan was careful.

Ryan knew that Spencer barely remembered those few years when they'd been best friends, and cared even less, but Ryan did. He remembered Spencer's mom and dad cutting off the crusts from Ryan's sandwiches, and he remembered holding Spencer's hand when they visited the aquarium, pressing their noses up against the window of the shark tank. He remembered his parents' divorce, the subsequent custody battle and the way he'd had to pack up his stuff and move half way across the country to Chicago, aged nine, to live with his mom. The way he'd left his best friend back in Las Vegas, and the way all those promises to keep in touch had come to nothing.

"Are you okay, Ryan?" Spencer asked, pausing mid-sentence.

Ryan looked up and met his gaze. "Yes," he said, and even though his stomach was churning, he kept his voice level and monotone. "Sorry, keep going." Ryan had always been proud to work for Spencer, so far as pride could go in a career he hated. But, love? When had it turned into _love_? He swallowed hard, bending over his notebook and scribbling something down in the margin.

"Okay," Spencer said, watching Ryan carefully.

Ryan refused to meet Spencer's eyes.

 

The rest of the morning was miserable. Ryan started to notice everything about Spencer, all the little things that he'd never paid attention to before. He noticed how Spencer's hand brushed his when Ryan brought him coffee, when he took in the mail, when he passed over the documents he'd had bound for Spencer's afternoon meeting.

Remodeling and redecorating the resort was a constant task, in order to keep the clientele coming, and Ryan had to spend the hour just before lunch leaning over the files with Spencer. By the time the clock ticked over to half past twelve, Ryan was about ready to drop just from the exertion required to keep his face blank and his emotions secret. He couldn't quite believe that he'd worked here for so long without noticing how closely they worked together on a day-to-day basis, without realizing the effect that that had on him.

He was more than glad of the opportunity to get out of the resort for an hour. He often had little things to do for Spencer, dry-cleaning to pick up or drop off, presents for his family's birthdays to pick out. He'd forgotten what day it was until Spencer dropped by his desk just as he was turning his computer off (Ryan was eco-friendly, even if the rest of Las Vegas kept the lights burning) and asked Ryan to pick up something for his current date as a Valentines gift.

It wasn't unusual for Ryan to pick up gifts for Spencer's dates, and Shelley seemed nice enough. She was a showgirl in the casino and the first time she'd dropped by the office to meet Spencer for lunch, she'd introduced herself to Ryan and shaken his hand. She was also astoundingly pretty.

Spencer liked his dates to be pretty. He liked women and he liked men and other than them all being staggeringly good looking, they were a diverse bunch. The only thing that they had in common was that they never lasted. Ryan found himself picking out expensive gifts—pendants and cufflinks and purses and ties—but they were all replaced by someone new eventually. Normally, Ryan enjoyed the task because he had always loved to shop and when he was buying for Spencer, he didn't feel the same cash-flow limitations as he did when he was buying for himself.

He picked out a necklace with a single diamond set in white gold, and declined the offer from the shop assistant to have it gift wrapped for him. Ryan was nothing if not thorough, and his wrapping was always better than the so-called professionals. He took a bleak sort of pride in the knowledge that Shelley would love it.

They always did.

The day only got worse as the afternoon wore on. In between Spencer's afternoon meetings, he rushed back to the office and changed his shirt and tie while getting Ryan to read out the agenda and the action points from the last sub-committee meeting. Ryan tried to concentrate on budgets and projected division expenditure but all he could do was stare over the top of his clipboard at Spencer as he changed, hastily doing up his collar and fiddling with his cufflinks as Ryan tried to stay on task.

"Are you sure you're okay, Ryan?"

Ryan blinked, shaken out of his reverie. "I'm fine," he said, carefully, schooling his face into a calm smile. Spencer put his loosened tie over his head and fiddled with the knot. Without thinking, Ryan leaned over and straightened it for him.

"Are you sure?" Spencer said again, touching at Ryan's chin. "You've been weird all day. You sure you're not coming down with something? Or is it all the late-night partying you've been doing?"

Ryan shucked off Spencer's touch and busied himself tidying the papers on Spencer's desk. He wasn't much of a party animal, at least not here in Vegas. The only person he tended to see in the evenings was his dad.

Growing up in Chicago, he'd missed his dad intensely. His mom had refused to let him fly cross-country by himself so he barely saw his dad apart from during the summer vacation, and then only for the odd few days. Stuck in Las Vegas by himself, his dad had started drinking and by the time that Ryan had been old enough to do anything to help him stop, it was too late and Ryan's dad had already been diagnosed with liver disease. Ryan had moved south as soon as he was able to, because the least he could do was help make his dad comfortable. Whenever he finished work early enough, he'd drive across town and spend the evening with his dad, watching the TV with the sound up too loud and doing his dad's laundry.

"I'm fine," Ryan said again, once he'd composed himself enough and could look up and meet Spencer's concerned gaze.

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "I know you're lying, Ross. Don't think I don't know when you're lying."

"You're late, Mr. Smith." Ryan thrust the paperwork Spencer needed into Spencer's hands and headed back out to his desk.

"You only call me that when you've got something to hide, Ryan," Spencer called after him.

Ryan resisted the urge to put his head in his hands and bang his forehead off the desk.

"You're _late_ ," he said again. "And I'm fine."

"Finish early today. There's no rush on these," Spencer said, appearing the other side of Ryan's desk and leaving a pile of papers in Ryan's in-tray. Ryan tried not to think about how much work that meant. "It's Valentines Day. Go out and enjoy yourself with your date."

 _Date, what date_ , Ryan thought, tiredly. "Thanks," he said, and rolled his eyes. "Seriously, Spencer. It's five past already."

Spencer shrugged. "They'll wait." He pulled on his jacket, checking his pocket for his BlackBerry. "Don't be here when I get back," he called after him, heading for the elevator. "I mean it."

 _Yeah_ , Ryan thought, and pulled the stack of paperwork out of his in-tray.

 

He made sure to be out of the office by the time Spencer was due to finish his meeting, taking a pile of paperwork home with him. Once he was back in his apartment, he dumped his work on the table in the kitchen and face-planted into the couch. He was a complete and utter loser; worse than that, he was a clichéd loser. Falling in love with his _boss_ , it was like something out of a made-for-TV movie.

Ryan groaned, and rubbed at his eyes. "I am an idiot," he told himself, severely. "I am a total _dick_."

He picked up his cellphone as he made his way into the kitchen, putting water on to boil for pasta.

Jon answered on the third ring, saying, "Hey, dude, you're home early."

"Yeah," Ryan sighed. "I am a total and utter loser, Jon Walker."

"Is this because you're dateless on Valentines Day, dude, because that happens to all of us at some point-"

"No," Ryan interrupted, rolling his eyes, "although, way to go and make me feel worse. And, when has that ever happened to you?"

Jon laughed. "I am a king among men, Ryan, and don't you forget it."

"Where is Brendon, anyway?" Ryan watched as the water on his stove started to boil, and without ceremony, he dumped a load of pasta in the pot.

"He's locked himself in the kitchen," Jon said. "Apparently he's preparing me some sort of culinary masterpiece."

Ryan laughed. Brendon was a disaster in the kitchen, normally by his own admission. "You're not going to eat it, are you?"

"Every bite," Jon said, proudly. He stretched, groaning down the phone line. "Although, don't tell him this but I've hidden cookies in the cabinets in the bathroom. I'm not going to starve even if it's inedible."

Ryan shook his head. "You two are a mess waiting to happen."

"Yup."

Jon was Ryan's best friend from school. Ryan had spent most of his teen years going to see Jon play in shitty band after shitty band, all the way through high school and into college. Brendon was his boyfriend, a cute, goofy Las Vegas ex-pat who Ryan had met in college and had introduced to Jon. The two of them made a slightly odd, if endearing, couple, and Ryan missed them a lot.

"Hey," Jon said, interrupting Ryan's trip down memory lane. "I was going to call you tonight-"

"Oh yeah?" Ryan stirred the pot, opening his cupboards to see if he had any of that stir-in sauce he liked.

"What are you doing this weekend? I know it's like, really short notice, but you think you can get some time off work and fly up?"

Ryan shrugged. Normally he'd just say no, because flights were expensive and he usually ended up working at least part of his weekend, but he needed to get out of this place, needed to get away from Spencer Smith and get some distance. "What's the occasion?"

Jon laughed. "You need an occasion to come visit your best friends?"

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Now I'm worried. What's going on?"

"There's a show," Jon said, finally. "My new band."

"Oh," Ryan said. "I might have guessed." He'd been to see more of Jon's bands over the years than he could count. Over the years, Ryan had toyed with the idea of taking up the guitar and playing—he'd certainly spent enough time sitting through band practices with Jon, trying to do his homework as they played yet another shitty Blink-182 cover—but he'd never been able to persuade his mom to let him learn.

"This one's good, Ry." There was a pause. "And we miss you. We both do."

"Yeah," Ryan said, thinking about the limit on his credit card. Maybe he could switch a few things around - "Hey, you know what? Screw the cost. Sure. I'll come."

There was a beat. "Really?"

"Yeah," Ryan said again, holding the phone away from his ear as Jon whooped down the line, shouting to tell Brendon that Ryan was coming up. Ryan laughed.

"Don't think I don't know something's up, Ross." Jon covered the mouthpiece, saying something muffled to Brendon. "Apparently Brendon has finished concocting his masterpiece and we have to go eat it now before the world collapses in on itself or something."

Ryan grinned. "Go on. Before he kills you." He thought about Spencer, taking out his showgirl girlfriend and never thinking about Ryan at all, other than as his secretary. His resolve hardened. "I'll book flights tonight."

"Good," Jon told him. "Brendon says to have a good evening."

"Yeah," Ryan said, his face falling. He stirred his pasta. "You guys too."

"Love you," Jon said.

"Yeah," Ryan said, again. "Me too. Both you guys."

 

Ryan ended up dumping most of his dinner into the trash can. He sat by the window with his notebook open, chewing on the end of his pen. He couldn't think of anything to write.

 

The following day wasn't quite as bad as Ryan expected. Spencer was out of the office most of the day, caught up in a never-ending cycle of meetings with the Las Vegas Planning Commission that Ryan ended up photocopying hundreds of sheets of paper for on a regular basis.

It was just Ryan in the office by himself, and he spent most of the time telling himself that whatever it was he felt for Spencer, it wasn't going to affect their working relationship. Things could carry on just as they always had, and while he fired off email after email to the Vice President's office (who were categorically refusing to meet regarding the log flume ride that Spencer was threatening to put out of business), he told himself that he could just get over this _love_ thing that had appeared out of nowhere.

Ryan wanted to poke his own eyes out with his sharpened pencils.

He emailed Brendon and Jon details of his flights, hoping that they could pick him up from the airport late on Friday night. He contemplated emailing Spencer to let him know he'd be out of town for the weekend, but in the end he rolled his eyes and followed Spencer in to his office in between his meetings.

Spencer was distracted, scribbling notes on his pad and hovering over the filing cabinets. "Where's the, um, the Jenkins-Kenyon report?" he asked, opening drawers, seemingly at random.

Ryan really didn't care that much about his job, and the only reason he did it so well was because he had some skewed sense of inner pride.

"Here," he said, because he did the damn filing so he should at least know the system inside and out. The filing system was dense and complicated, but impeccably organized. He handed Spencer the file and tried not to notice as his fingers brushed Spencer's. He flushed, but ducked his head, kneeling down to tidy the drawer before pushing it closed. "So," he said, from his vantage point down by Spencer's thighs which, on second thought, was perhaps not his best move ever, "I'm going to Chicago for the weekend, so I'm not going to be available."

Spencer was already flipping through the file, heading back to his desk and leaning over his computer. "Yeah?" he said, looking up. "Seeing your family?"

Ryan deliberately never mentioned his family, and he and Spencer hadn't talked about it since they were eight and nine and Ryan's parents were divorcing and Ryan thought his world was ending. He wondered if Spencer even remembered anything about back then. "Friends," he said, shortly.

Spencer looked at him for a moment. "Right," he said, smoothing his hair behind his ear. He'd been growing it out for a while and now it was at a perfect length, colored dark honey-blond and long enough to tuck behind his ears. Ryan sometimes caught the scent of Spencer's shampoo if they were working closely together. Ryan's breath caught at the thought. "Just make sure you leave the monthly reports on my desk before you leave. And, um, have a good time, Ryan."

Ryan nodded, and turned on his heel, heading back to his desk where he congratulated himself for not bludgeoning himself to death with his electric stapler.

 

He almost missed his flight, rushing across Vegas at rush hour on Friday. The cab driver was a madman, cutting across three lines of traffic to get him to check-in before it closed, and on more than one occasion Ryan had to grip the edge of the seat in sheer panic, but he got there just in time and sank into a chair in the airport lounge, breathing heavily.

The woman next to him gave him a short smile as Ryan pulled a book out of his bag, accidentally hitting her with her elbow. He apologized, and wondered if he'd remembered to take his notebook out of his case and into his hand luggage. He might only be going away for a weekend but he'd still checked in a bag; Ryan was careful and methodical and even if he hadn't been able to shop very much since he'd finished with college, it was unthinkable that he arrive for the weekend without at least three spare outfits, even if they were faded and washed out.

The flight was full of people and _loud_ ; Ryan hated being disturbed by crying children and noisy businessmen on their way home after a Las Vegas jaunt. He put his earbuds in even when he couldn't have his iPod on, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief when the seatbelt sign lifted and he could switch it on. He spent the rest of the flight lost in a world of angry young men and heavy guitars.

Jon and Brendon met him at Arrivals; they were holding up a sign that said _Ryan Ross, World Class_ in big, sprawling purple letters.

"World Class _what_?" Ryan asked once they'd dropped the sign and engulfed him in a hug.

"We ran out of time," Brendon explained, slinging an arm around Ryan's shoulder and squeezing. "It's unfinished. A work in progress."

" _Brendon_ ran out of time," Jon said. "I said we should have started it earlier, but _someone_ wanted pancakes, so-"

Ryan grinned and rested his chin on Jon's shoulder. "Jwalk," he said, "you make pancakes now?"

"I am a man of many talents," Jon told him, seriously.

"He is," Brendon confided. "Not least, blowjobs."

Ryan snorted and Jon—to his credit—didn't go as red as he might have.

"Brendon," Jon said carefully, "is sometimes quite indiscreet."

"I'll forget this conversation ever happened," Ryan told him, tapping his lips. "These lips are sealed. In fact, I'm thinking of bleaching my brain later, if that's okay with you guys?"

 

It was the alcohol that finally did it for Ryan's resolve to keep quiet about Spencer.

Brendon was in charge of the drinks, which in hindsight perhaps wasn't the best idea in the world, bearing in mind Brendon's predilection for primary colors and drinks with umbrellas. Ryan could forgive a lot when it came to Jon Walker, not least his taste in bizarrely hyperactive and adorable boyfriends.

They were sprawled out on the couches in Jon's living room, Ryan with his feet on the coffee table and his head on Jon's shoulder. A haphazard collection of shot glasses littered the table, and Ryan's voice was beginning to slur.

He couldn't stop thinking about Spencer, about his hands, and his suits, and the way that Ryan's heart seemed to stutter and miss a beat whenever Spencer smiled.

"I know there's something up, Ryan. Spill," Jon said eventually, knocking Ryan's elbow and tipping green, melon flavored liquor across Ryan's pant leg. "Hey, look, _spill_."

Ryan laughed. "I can't believe you let him buy _green_ alcohol, Jon," he said, in a whisper.

"I can _hear_ you guys," Brendon said, loudly, from the table where he was busy mixing a new cocktail he'd called the _Brendonometer_. "You're not being quiet."

"Shhh," Jon said, holding a finger to his lips. "I mostly can't stop him."

"You are so whipped, Jonwalker," Ryan said, resting his head on Jon's shoulder again. The room seemed to spin less from there.

"Yeah," Jon pressed a kiss to the top of Ryan's head. "But look at him. Wouldn't you be?" Ryan shifted so he could see across to where Brendon was carefully adding tiny umbrellas to each of his brightly colored cocktails, tongue sticking out. He was grinning, humming along to the song on the stereo, glasses sliding down his nose.

Ryan poked Jon in the side. "You're so stupidly in love, I can't even bear to look at you. Either of you."

Jon squeezed his shoulder. "You maybe want to tell us what's going on with you?"

Ryan shrugged. "I'm a dick," he said, burying his face in Jon's chest. "Worse than that, Jonwalker, I'm a cliché."

"Never," Jon said, making room for Brendon on the sofa as put the tray with the cocktails down on the coffee table.

"I don't believe it," Brendon declared. "Also, you should try this drink. It rocks. It's like the spirit of summertime captured entirely in alcohol."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "I'm in love with my boss, guys."

Brendon giggled. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Ryan sighed, sitting up and taking a gulp of his drink. "I'm the biggest cliché known to mankind."

Jon blinked. "Spencer Smith?"

Ryan nodded. "Spencer. He's like-" he shrugged. "He's beautiful, guys. He's like, all I can think about. There have been entire novels written about this kind of epic fail." He sighed. "Also, this drink isn't entirely undrinkable."

Brendon nodded. "Told you." He picked the slice of orange out of his drink and ate it whole, peel included. "Does he know?"

"You're gross," Ryan pointed out, helpfully. "And _no_ , he doesn't. He has no idea."

Ryan explained about Valentines Day and his epiphany over their morning meeting.

"Are you kidding?" Jon asked. "You fell in love with him while taking _dictation_? Are you secretly trapped in the nineteen fifties?"

"Yes," Ryan nodded, leaning forward so his forehead touched the coffee table. "I'm such a fucking loser," he said.

"So, what," Jon said. "let me get this straight. All this time you've been working for him and nothing, then what, all of a sudden you, like, love him?"

"Pretty much," Ryan said, sitting up again. "On a scale of one to ten, how much of a fucking loser am I?"

Jon shrugged a shoulder. "Ten," he said. "No contest."

Brendon punched him in the arm. "I think it's cute," he told Ryan. "I'd probably give you a seven, maybe a seven point five?"

"I hate you both," Ryan moaned. "What the hell am I going to do?"

"Have you got a chance with him?" Brendon asked, brightly. "Because then you should just get him to bend you over the desk. That's what I do-"

Jon clapped a hand over Brendon's mouth.

Ryan tried not to laugh at Jon's discomfort and Brendon still mouthing at Jon's palm. "He dates showgirls and playboys. I've got about as much chance as-" he looked around, and failed miserably to come up with any inspiration, "-as some other thing with no chance at all."

"You sure this isn't a crush?" Jon asked, gently. He had some pretty good reasons for asking; Ryan had been pretty obsessive in his youth and a couple of his more extravagant break-ups had led to journals filled with deep, dark poetry and brooding short stories about the futility of existence. Ryan still had them, in a suitcase in his apartment. "You don't know him all that well."

"Real thing," Ryan sighed. "I swear to you, real thing. Maybe I should just quit right now, move back up here and sleep on your couch for a while."

"I think you should just tell him," Brendon told him, patting Ryan's knee. "Take a risk."

"No fucking way," Ryan said. "No. Why the fuck would he be interested in his _secretary_?"

"Maybe we should make you over," Brendon said, leaning over and running his fingers through Ryan's hair. Brendon was a hairdresser, an honest-to-god hairdresser. Brendon had dutifully completed his business degree—sponsored by his parents—and then he'd graduated and gone straight back to hairdressing school. Ryan had had too much to drink to bat him away, so Brendon kept carding his fingers through Ryan's hair. "Seriously," Brendon went on, "I could give you a kick-ass haircut. He wouldn't be able to resist you."

"No way." Ryan shook his head. "If he doesn't love me— _like_ me—like this, then." He shrugged. "Then we're not meant to be. Which we're not, by the way."

Brendon cocked his head to one side. "You should dress up," he told Ryan, tugging at his shirt collar. "You should make him notice you. Then, you know, tell him you want to make little baby Spencer Smiths with him."

"Is that how you caught Jon?" Ryan asked, grinning. He'd virtually moved into Brendon's apartment sophomore year onwards, and he knew Brendon almost as well as he knew Jon. Better, in some ways. He'd seen their bizarre mating ritual right from the outset, which had basically comprised of Brendon wearing a lot of girl t-shirts and sitting in Jon's Starbucks, drinking his way through the coffee menu. Jon's response had mostly been to let him.

"You know it," Brendon said, with a grin. He pressed a kiss to Jon's temple.

Just then, Ryan's cellphone rang. It could only really be one of two people—either his dad, or it was Spencer. It was too late for his dad to call.

Ryan answered clumsily, falling off the sofa and saying "Hey Spencer Smith."

Spencer let out a bark of laughter. "You are _drunk_ , Ryan."

"It's my weekend off," Ryan said, sulkily. "I am allowed to drink on my weekends off."

"Hey, I'm not judging," Spencer said. "It sounds like you're having a good time."

"I am." Ryan shoved Jon and Brendon away from where they were trying to lean over the edge of the couch and listen in.

"Put him on speaker phone," Brendon whispered, loudly. "I want to hear."

Ryan hid round the side of the couch with his phone. "You're working late," he said. "Unless you're not." He carefully tried to bury his face in the carpet and unsay the last few lines. Shutting up would really be a very good idea, he thought.

Spencer laughed again. "I am. No rest for the wicked." He sounded kind of wistful, but Ryan could hear _love_ if he listened hard enough and that sure as hell wasn't actually there. "So, look, I'm sorry for disturbing you but I need the budget expansion notes from the reassignment committee. I'm presenting to the Planning Commission at nine on Monday morning, so I need to work all weekend. I can't find them anywhere."

Ryan told him in a very careful, slow voice where he could find the notes, trying not to give away just how drunk he actually was.

Spencer grinned down the phone. "Found them," he told Ryan. "I'm really sorry for disturbing your weekend, Ryan. Enjoy the rest of your time off."

"Yeah," Ryan said, slowly. "You too. You enjoy your weekend."

Ryan was left holding the dead handset to his ear.

Brendon tipped over the end of the sofa and ended up on the carpet next to Ryan. "You're such a loser, Ryan," he confided in a whisper.

"I know," Ryan said, sliding down to where he could lean against Brendon's shoulder.

"However," Brendon said, sleepily. "Your boss can't live without you."

Ryan stuck his hand in the air. "Your boyfriend," he said, drunkenly pointing between Jon and Brendon, "is a closet romantic."

"Yep," Jon said, proudly. He ruffled Brendon's hair.

"Watch the hair," Brendon said, catching Jon's hand and tangling their fingers together.

"I'm still not having a makeover," Ryan said.

He really wasn't.

"Still think you should tell him how you feel." Brendon said, sticking his tongue out and licking Ryan's temple.

That was something Ryan was one hundred percent sure he was never going to do.

 

By the time Jon and Brendon dropped him at the airport late on Sunday afternoon, Ryan had changed his mind. He was going to tell Spencer exactly how he felt about him. He had to know one way or the other if he had a chance; not knowing was driving him crazy.

 

By lunchtime on Monday, he'd changed his mind six times. If he told Spencer, there was a good chance he was going to lose both Spencer _and_ his job. He needed his job and he liked working for Spencer, so far as liking his job went. However, not telling him meant living in a perpetual state of not knowing one way or the other, and the atmosphere in the office was starting to get weird.

Brendon called when he was on his lunch break. "What's the worst that could happen, Ross?" Brendon asked, mid-way through a bite of his sandwich.

"He could turn me down and I might have to leave my job and not be able to afford my dad's home nurse?"

"Pshaw," Brendon said, which could have been an actual response or merely a reaction to finding surprise pickles on his sandwiches. Jon had confided that Brendon had persuaded Jon into making his lunch for him every day for a month, and it was pretty much part of the job description for Jon to get away with surprise pickles at least one day every week. For someone who loved surprises, Brendon seemed to like his sandwiches pickle free. "That's not going to happen."

Ryan wasn't so sure.

Each day that week he got up thinking that today was going to be the day he bit the bullet and told Spencer. Each day he wore his good pants, the smart ones, and he wore neat shirts and every day he wimped out at the last minute.

Spencer kept giving him odd looks and asking if everything was okay. Ryan ended up nodding a lot and working overtime.

Brendon and Jon kept calling him to find out how it had gone, only to find Ryan being monosyllabic and eating ice cream.

"I have turned into a girl," he said, gloomily.

"You," Jon said severely, "have always been against gender-stereotyping. Stop being a pussy and tell him."

"Tomorrow," Ryan said, scraping the bottom of the ice cream tub with his spoon.

Only tomorrow came and Spencer was out at an all day meeting at City Hall that Ryan had totally forgotten about. Ryan ended up logging in to Spencer's calendar to find out his itinerary. He did it every day for entirely work related ends but he was strangely paranoid that he was going to get caught and everybody would know that Ryan was in love with his boss. In the end, he restrained himself from banging his head on his desk and caught up on all the filing he hadn't been doing because it normally meant hanging out for hours in Spencer's office trying not to stare too much at Spencer across the top of the filing cabinets.

He was pretty sure he used to have a sense of self.

 

"Tomorrow," he said, without even saying hello, when Brendon and Jon rang him that evening.

"Pussy," Jon said, without heat.

Brendon wrestled the phone away from Jon. "Want to practice?" he offered. "I could be Spencer, and you could be- oh. Well. You know who you are."

Ryan buried his face in the pillow and hung up.

 

When he walked in to the office the following morning to take down Spencer's directions, Ryan didn't sit down.

Spencer looked up from his coffee. "Ryan," he said, when it became clear that Ryan wasn't going to be sitting down any time soon. "Look, are you okay, because I know I've been asking you a lot lately, but you do look tired-"

"Spencer," Ryan interrupted. His palms were sweating. "I need to talk to you alone. About something, um, personal. Are you free this evening?"

Spencer sat up in his chair. He looked concerned. "Is everything alright, Ryan?"

Ryan nodded. "Yes, it's just-" he sighed. "How about eight thirty? Could you come over?" He'd decided to make it as impersonal an experience as possible; somewhere he didn't have to see Spencer on a daily basis. He'd thought that maybe they could have a cup of coffee and Ryan could say, so, _I love you_ and Spencer could either say _I do too_ or _I don't_ and either way, it would be over and done with. "Eight thirty?" he said again, when Spencer didn't reply.

"Okay," Spencer said. "Yeah-"

"Right," Ryan said decisively and sat down, flipping open his notebook, resting his recording device on the edge of the desk and pressing record.

 

It was twenty five past eight and Ryan was stood in his boxers in the middle of his bedroom with his cellphone on speaker phone. "I have nothing to wear," Ryan said, desperately, tugging out four shirts in a row and discarding them on the bed.

"You should wear something bright," Brendon told him, down the phone line.

"Ryan," Jon said, "you have always had more clothes than the rest of us put together." There was the sound of a scuffle. "Apart from maybe Brendon."

"Not anymore I don't," Ryan said, head in the closet, throwing a pile of t-shirts he never wore on top of the shirts already on the bed. "I need a whole new wardrobe. I haven't had anything new since college. Everything I own is really shitty."

"Makeover!" Brendon said, brightly.

"Fuck off," Ryan said, tightly. "Tell me what the hell I'm supposed to wear to tell Spencer I'm in love with him. Christ-" he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "This is a stupid idea," he said.

"Calm down," Jon told him. "Just put on your jeans, the ones you had on last weekend. You looked good."

"You did," Brendon agreed. "Also, that shirt, the one we got you for your birthday. The dark blue one."

Ryan swallowed hard, and then pulled on a pair of jeans and as he was throwing the contents of his closet all over the floor to find the blue t-shirt, his doorbell went. "Shit, fuck," he said, tugging the t-shirt on over his head. He ran his fingers through his hair.

"Good luck," Brendon and Jon chorused. Ryan clicked the red button and rushed for the front door. He realized he wasn't wearing any socks as he pulled open the door.

Spencer was wearing the same suit he'd been wearing all day, and had clearly come straight over from the office.

"Hey," Spencer said.

"Um," Ryan said, his mouth dry. For someone who'd always found it relatively easy to express himself on paper, when it came to conversation, Ryan could sometimes be a total tool.

"Can I come in?" Spencer asked, with a smile. "Unless you want to have this conversation with me out in the hallway."

"Yeah, sure," Ryan said, stupidly. "Come in."

Ryan had never had Spencer over to his apartment before. It was obviously a lot smaller than Spencer's; Ryan had been over to Spencer's to drop off cleaning and pick up work more times than he could remember. Ryan had always secretly dreamed of owning his own house and decorating it, but right now he was so broke that it seemed like a pipe dream. He hadn't bothered to change his apartment that much since he'd moved in. There were piles of books leaned up against the bookcase by the wall, his laptop open on the kitchen table where he'd left it the night before. On a bulletin board by the door were pictures of Jon and Brendon, and one of his dad. There wasn't one of his mom, but he told himself it was just because he hadn't found one nice enough to pin up yet. In his bedroom, slid into the corner of the mirror by his closet, was a photo of Ryan and Spencer, aged eight and nine, at a birthday party, the last they'd been to before Ryan had left. He wondered if he should have taken it down.

"You wanted to talk." Spencer said, folding his jacket over the back of one of Ryan's kitchen chairs. Ryan nodded. "Look, if it's something about work, I'm sure we can find some way to work through it-"

"I'm in love with you," Ryan interrupted, looking Spencer straight in the eye. "I- um, I love you."

Spencer's phone rang.

Spencer stared at Ryan.

"You should probably get that," Ryan said, gesturing towards Spencer's jacket. "It might be important."

"Right," Spencer said uncomfortably, pulling his BlackBerry out of his jacket pocket. He sat down carefully and took the call; Ryan busied himself by piling up his notebooks on his coffee table and putting all his pens back in the tin on the shelf. He schooled his face into a carefully blank expression.

When Spencer ended the call, he stood up and Ryan turned around to face him.

There was a long moment where neither of them said anything.

"I didn't know," Spencer said finally. He was pale.

"Yeah," Ryan said, gesturing awkwardly. His cheeks burned. "I can see that."

"Um," Spencer said, flushing. "I don't really know what to say."

"I think that's pretty obvious too," Ryan went on. He bit his lip. "You've turned people down before though, right?"

"Ryan," Spencer said carefully. "I'm flattered."

The rushing in Ryan's ears was so loud he could barely hear over it. "But," he said. "This is where you say _but_."

Spencer swallowed. "But I'm not looking for someone like you, I'm sorry."

"Someone like, um, me?" Ryan managed.

"It's a compliment," Spencer told him.

"Yeah, it sounds like it," Ryan said, and desperately tried not to give away how hurt he was.

Spencer looked wretched. "It is, Ryan. You're a clever guy, you're smart and funny and good looking and well organized and I couldn't run my office without you."

 _You could_ , Ryan thought, dully, _I hate my job, aside from you_.

"You deserve the very best in a man," Spencer told him.

"I don't want that," Ryan said, before he could stop himself, "I just want you." He clenched his fists, and dug them into his thighs. "Look," he said. "Just, I don't know. Tell me you're not interested and then you can go."

Spencer let out a long breath. "Ryan-" he stopped. "Okay. I'm not interested, I'm sorry."

Ryan wondered if there was any possible way that this moment could get any worse. "I'm sorry too," he said, finally, once he could trust himself to speak without his voice wavering. "I should never have put you in this position. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Spencer said. "Really." He picked up his jacket from the back of Ryan's chair.

"Um, look." Ryan wouldn't meet Spencer's gaze. He stared at the books by his bookshelf, and almost laughed at the realization that he'd never get a chance to put them on the shelves now; two years after he'd moved in they were still only half-unpacked. "You'll have my resignation in the morning. Two weeks notice isn't that long."

"What?" Spencer asked, sharply. He stopped, and turned to stare at Ryan. "You don't have to quit your job."

"I think I do," Ryan said. "We can't work together, not after this."

"Look," Spencer said, his shoulders taut. "You're good at your job. I'd rather you didn't resign."

Ryan rubbed his palms against his jeans. His cheeks were warm. "You want us to go on as we were before? You think we can?"

Spencer looked at him. "I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think we could."

Ryan swallowed down a desperate breath and managed to nod. "Okay," he said. "Yeah."

"Good," Spencer said, with an attempt at a smile.

Ryan nodded, eyes firmly on the carpet. He looked at his toes, and didn't look up again until after he heard the soft click of the front door closing.

 

He curled up on the bed, kicking his clothes off onto the floor. He hit redial on his phone and waited until it connected.

"Well?" Brendon asked, excitedly.

"He didn't want me," Ryan said, suddenly exhausted. He had a headache coming on, a tension migraine behind his temples.

"Oh, fuck," Brendon exhaled sadly. "Oh fuck, Ryan Ross, I'm so sorry."

Ryan buried his face in the pillows and tried not to cry. "At least I know now," he said, after a while.

Jon sighed softly. "He's a dumb fuck who doesn't know what the hell he's missing out on."

"Yeah," Ryan nodded. "Fuck, I wish you guys were here."

"We're gonna fly down and visit you real soon," Brendon said.

Ryan curled up in the blankets and squeezed his eyes tight shut.

 

It was weird, Ryan thought, a couple of days later, that things weren't actually as bad as he'd imagined they'd be. Knowing that Spencer didn't want him was a _relief_ , he told himself. He didn't have to wonder anymore. He was even sleeping better.

Things carried on as normal, up to a point. Every morning Ryan set up his digital recorder on the desk and opened his notebook to a blank page and took notes. He had the emails drafted and in Spencer's inbox by late morning, and he ensured that any filing or organizing in Spencer's office was done while Spencer was out at meetings. He brought Spencer his coffee and handed him the mail and each time he did it, he felt a little less like dying inside. Spencer was polite and friendly, if a little distant, and Ryan could even look at him now, look at him and smile and nod, and if it never quite reached his eyes, Spencer never said anything.

He drove over to see his dad in the evenings, doing his laundry and eating dinner with him in front of reruns of old quiz shows. Ryan would text Jon and Brendon while his dad was in the bathroom and they'd send ones back that said _bden says justin timberlake is hotter than orlando bloom discuss ryanross._

Jon had harbored a long term and potentially obsessive crush on Orlando Bloom for most of his high school career and beyond. Brendon liked to tease. Ryan liked to join in.

So what if Spencer didn't want him. So what. If all Ryan had to do to get through this was get over his embarrassment—well. He could do that. People got over people all the time.

 

"Look," Spencer said somewhat awkwardly, a couple of weeks later.

Ryan sat up and tried to compose his face into an expression of polite disinterest.

"You know I've been meeting up with Frank Iero, up in New Jersey?"

Ryan nodded. The resort was keen to expand and had been scouting out possible new sites and new country-wide investors for a year or more. Ryan couldn't particularly dredge up that much interest for an industry that thrived by ripping people off, but beggars couldn't be choosers, so he listened politely.

"So, he wants me to meet with Bob Bryar in Chicago;" Spencer marked something down on the page in front of him. "I want to fly up at the end of the week, and it would be useful if you could come up with me."

Ryan swallowed. "You want me to come with you?" he asked.

Spencer nodded. "Yes. I think he's going to put together a proposal for me and it's going to be a busy few days." He didn't seem to be meeting Ryan's eyes and Ryan flushed, ducking his gaze down over his notebook.

"Right," Ryan said, uncomfortably. He normally dropped in on his dad over the weekend, but he got a pretty healthy bonus for business trips, so he'd see if the home nurse agency could send someone over on Saturday and Sunday, just to check on him.

Spencer gulped back his coffee. "Talk to the booking agents. See if you can't get a suite with an office. I'm going to need wireless and a fax line and meeting facilities—get pastries and breakfast for eight a.m. on Friday if you can, probably for about, uh, five people."

"Right," Ryan said again, scribbling down notes on his pad. Spencer kept on talking, listing his instructions and the names of the contacts at the Bryar Group.

"I'll email you the proposed itinerary they've sent down. Take a look at it and see if it seems feasible." Spencer said, shuffling his papers - somewhat unnecessarily, Ryan thought. "And, um," Spencer went on, "you should try and keep Saturday evening free on the schedule. You'll be able to see your friends and family."

Ryan swallowed loudly. "Okay," he said, and wondered if keeping on working here was really for the best. His feelings for Spencer weren't diminishing; if anything they were growing stronger over time. Spencer came in every day looking exquisitely well put together and Ryan could barely keep himself from flushing every time they met in the morning. Yet Spencer still seemed kind of distant; while they'd never had anything other than a professional relationship throughout Ryan's tenure at the resort, even that seemed tense at the moment.

Sometimes Ryan looked up from his work and found Spencer staring at him through the window. Spencer would nod and carry on with his work and Ryan was left trying to compose himself into some sort of professionalism. He sighed, and wondered how it was that falling in love seemed so easy when falling _out_ of love was the hardest thing in the world. He'd already written more than his fair share of poems about it, sad and lonely and tired words he barely recognized.

 

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Jon asked, on Wednesday evening as Ryan was packing to leave the following day after they'd finished work.

"No," Ryan said, truthfully, trapping the phone uncomfortably between his shoulder and his ear as he rummaged through his closet. "But I haven't got much choice. He's my boss and I go where he goes."

Jon sighed. "You okay, Ry?"

"Getting there," Ryan told him, folding up three identical shirts and rolling them into his suitcase. "So, he doesn't love me back, Jon. It's okay. He's being nice about it."

"Refusing to accept your resignation isn't being nice about it."

"He _is_ being nice about it, okay?" Ryan swallowed, rolling socks into balls and stuffing them into his shoes. "I was the idiot here, I'm the one who fucked up. It's okay."

"You're not an idiot," Jon said, softly. "You just fell in love with someone who didn't love you back. It happens. You didn't fuck up, Ryan."

Ryan rubbed his eyes. "Yeah," he sighed. "Look, I've got to finish packing."

"We're looking forward to seeing you," Jon told him. "Brendon's desperate to get his hands on your hair."

"I'm not having a fucking makeover." Ryan rolled his eyes.

Jon grinned. "Brendon's not going to take no for an answer. Just so you know."

Ryan sighed. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

 

They drove a rental from O'Hare to the hotel. Spencer preferred driving himself to having a driver—apparently he got some sort of strange satisfaction about getting lost in cities he barely knew and finding his own way out. Ryan secretly thought that was pretty stupid, but he couldn't help but find it endearing at the same time.

Ryan not-so-secretly thought that he was fast becoming a total loser.

The roads were really busy; there had been an accident on the freeway and the traffic was backed up for miles. Ryan was trapped in the passenger seat and while he'd been dreading this part of the journey ever since Spencer had told him to book a rental earlier in the week, it wasn't actually going as badly as he'd envisaged.

He'd had nightmares about the plane trip, and had even considered booking himself into coach and Spencer into business class, but Spencer had adjusted the booking back before Ryan had had a chance to finalize it. Still, he was under no pretensions that Spencer would enjoy spending four hours in close contact with Ryan, so Ryan had put his earbuds in even before take off, an eye already on the seatbelt sign so that he could switch his iPod on at the earliest possible moment. He'd taken out his book from his carry-on and opened it at the first page, but Spencer kept trying to talk to him, asking him what it was he was reading and who he was listening to.

In the end, Ryan had ended up biting his lip and offering Spencer an earbud.

They'd ended up leaning in, staring down at the iPod screen on their shared armrest, and Ryan had never been more glad that they weren't both stuck in coach, with no leg room and narrow seats. At least in business class he didn't have to feel quite like he was sitting in Spencer's lap. Spencer had asked him question after question about Ryan's stupid-assed taste in music and in the end they'd ended up listening to old Blink-182 albums, both of them admitting to having being huge fans when they were in high school.

It had actually been kind of nice.

 

"Ryan?" Spencer disturbed his reverie by pointing out of the car window at the lines of traffic snaking ahead of them. "Do you know a different way to the hotel?"

"Um," Ryan swallowed, trying to get a handle on their location. "Sure," he said, looking around and trying to remember. "Take the next exit."

"Okay," Spencer said, with a grin. "But I'm blaming you if we get lost."

Ryan hid his smile in his fist and concentrated on getting them across town.

 

They got to the hotel much later than they'd expected, and Ryan was looking forward to getting up to his room. He wanted nothing more than to collapse on his bed and bemoan the fact that this was his life.

"Hey," Spencer said, catching his elbow. "You want to get a drink?"

Ryan blinked. "Me?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes," Spencer smiled, a real one, one that reached his eyes and caused them to crinkle at the edges. He peeled off his gloves, sliding them into his coat pocket. Ryan was having trouble dealing with just how amazing Spencer looked. He always looked good, and this suit was no different. It was charcoal gray silk and obviously new, but because he was prepared for Chicago weather, he'd teamed it with a silk scarf and heavy wool coat and gloves. He should have looked ridiculous.

He didn't, and Ryan ducked his gaze so that Spencer couldn't see his cheeks flush.

"Our bags," Ryan said, stupidly.

"I think the staff will make sure they're taken up to our rooms," Spencer told him, with a grin. He waved over the concierge and tipped him a handful of dollars, indicating their bags and letting him know which were his and which were Ryan's. "Come on, it's been a hell of a long day. Let's get a drink and some chips."

"Okay," Ryan said, after a beat. "Right."

 

The hotel bar was busy but there was a table free by the window, offering a pretty magnificent view of the Chicago skyline.

"Pretty great view," Ryan said, when it became clear that neither of them were going to say anything.

"Do you miss it?" Spencer asked curiously, as the waiter brought their drinks over. "Living here?"

Ryan shrugged, and looked down at his hands. "I miss my friends." He turned to look out of the window so he didn't have to meet Spencer's interested gaze. Spencer was leaning back in his seat, loosening his tie and looking—to Ryan's mind at least—stupidly hot. Ryan loosened his own tie, partly because he wanted something to do with his hands, but also because staring at Spencer tended to leave him suddenly short of breath.

"What made you come back to Las Vegas?" Spencer asked, as the waiter made room for a bowl of chips in the middle of their table.

They'd never had this conversation, not even when they'd first bumped into each other, Ryan coming out of the music store and Spencer not watching where he was going. "My dad," he said, shortly. Then, when Spencer didn't say anything, Ryan sighed. "I um, I didn't get to see him much, growing up. Then he got sick, so. I came back to look after him."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Spencer said, sincerely.

Ryan swallowed. "Yeah," he said. "Thanks." He didn't talk about his dad very much.

"So," Spencer said, after a moment where Ryan stared down at his hands. "That book you were reading on the plane."

Ryan managed a smile, thankful for the change of topic. "Murakami," he said. "Hard Boiled Wonderland. Have you read it?"

Spencer shook his head, and laughed. "I don't get much time to read anymore. Ever, really. I have a to-read list as long as my arm. Sometimes I feel like reading something and I don't have anything to hand; I don't even think I know what I like." He rolled his eyes. "I bet that makes me sound like such a dick."

Ryan grinned. "Only a little bit. What was the last book you read?"

Spencer thought about it. " _The Da Vinci Code._ "

Ryan buried his face in his hands. "No," he said, after a minute. "That's it, I can't work for you anymore. I'm quitting right now."

Spencer let out a snort of laughter. "Okay, okay. Tell me what I should be reading instead then."

Ryan rolled his eyes, and told him.

 

Friday was a never-ending cycle of meetings. Bob Bryar had always seemed like a nice enough guy; he remembered Ryan from a resort reception that Ryan had attended the previous fall.

Ryan took minutes for the morning meetings, but after a heavy lunch, Ryan was pleased to be able to sit out of Spencer's afternoon sessions. Instead, he busied himself in Spencer's suite, emailing the VP back in Vegas and arranging for Spencer's paperwork to be bound in the hotel's media suite downstairs. At the same time, he had Jon on speaker phone, telling him how he hadn't gotten to bed until after two the night before because he'd stayed up late with Spencer in the bar, talking about Murakami and Palahniuk and drinking rum and cokes.

Jon just laughed at him.

"What?" Ryan asked, collating papers in binders for the resort viewing in the morning.

"I bet you criticized every single thing the guy's ever read," Jon said. "And I also bet you recommended him a list of books about people dying and apocalypses and the fall of the human race as we know it."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Not everything I read is about people dying and being miserable. But yes, I made him a list."

"Ryan," Jon said, slowly. "Your bookshelves have always been—and always will be—full of books about people dying or being miserable. Sometimes for a change they might be about people both dying _and_ miserable."

"The human condition is very interesting," Ryan told Jon, piously. He missed the electric stapler he had back in Vegas. The hand held kind was making his wrist ache.

"I've said this before, Ryan - I think you should take up reading happy books every now and again at least."

"I read Harry Potter."

"Ryan," Jon said, patiently, "You're the only person in the whole entire world who thought that the death count in the final book wasn't high enough."

"I was just saying," Ryan said, accidentally jabbing a staple into his thumb, "that given a battle like that the tally would likely have been higher."

"Shut up," Jon said, with a laugh.

Ryan grinned and hung up.

 

Saturday was mostly spent trawling round the Bryar Group's hotel and grounds just outside of Chicago. Ryan carried his messenger bag and his digital recorder and his BlackBerry and copied down figures and notes whenever Spencer needed him to. Bob really did seem like a good guy, but Ryan wasn't the best person in the world at hiding his boredom, and being here in Chicago and not hanging out with Jon and Brendon or even Tom and Bill and the others was just asking too much of him. He was bored, and come the afternoon he would have been happy if he never talked about hotel expenditure again in his whole entire life. Instead, he tapped out an email to himself on his BlackBerry, a short story idea about a man who left parts of himself at every place he visited until he was nothing more than a shadow of his former self.

He was just musing on titles and mentally running through Tom Waits songs in his head when Spencer elbowed him, grinning.

Ryan looked up, only to find everyone milling around and helping themselves to coffee. They were clearly on a break.

"You're not listening to a word anyone's saying," Spencer told him, in an undertone. He was holding a cup of steaming coffee.

Ryan cleared his throat, flushing. "Sorry," he said, quickly, sliding his BlackBerry into his pocket.

"It's alright," Spencer confided, "I'm bored too."

Ryan couldn't hide his bark of laughter, and he quickly busied himself putting his notebook back into his bag, hiding his face.

Next to him, Spencer composed his face into a polite smile and shook hands with Bob's colleague, Ray Toro, the Conference and Events Manager.

 

Getting back to their hotel couldn't have come quick enough for Ryan, who was fast running out of reasons not to impale himself on his own umbrella. He was cold and he knew that Brendon and Jon might already be waiting for him back at the hotel.

Brendon had been muttering dark things about bringing his hairdressing scissors with him, which had made Jon laugh and Ryan balk.

("You should just let him, you know," Jon had said, finally. "He's not going to give in."

"I do not need a makeover," Ryan had told them. Again.)

"I need a shower," Spencer said, tiredly, as they pulled in to the hotel and handed the car keys to the valet. "Anything to warm me up; I am _freezing_."

"You get used to it after a while," Ryan said, thinking back to all those winters growing up when he'd shivered miserably and missed his dad and Las Vegas. He was trying not to think about Spencer in the shower, all golden skin and honey-colored highlights, water running down his chest-

Ryan rolled his eyes at his own stupidity, and followed Spencer inside.

 

Jon and Brendon turned up half an hour later, bearing down on his hotel room with a bag full of m&ms and sour gummy worms and Brendon's hairdressing kit.

"No, no, no," Ryan said, fiercely, gesturing at the bag. "No fucking way, Brendon."

Brendon pulled him into a hug and pressed a kiss to his temple. "Come on, Ryan Ross. Let me work my magic on you."

"He has magic hands," Jon said, nodding. "Certified."

Brendon waggled his eyebrows and Ryan couldn't help but laugh. "You are a nightmare," he said, jabbing his finger into Brendon's chest. "And you, Jon Walker, are an evil enabler."

Jon put his hands in the air. "Guilty as charged," he said.

"Okay," Ryan said, after a minute. "Okay, you win. Cut my hair."

Brendon beamed.

 

They dragged a stool into Ryan's tiny bathroom and Ryan let Brendon wash his hair. Brendon was seriously fucking _amazing_ at head massage and Ryan had forgotten how much of a total sucker he was for people playing with his hair.

"You like that?" Brendon asked, after Ryan failed to stifle a groan.

Ryan kicked him, and Brendon laughed.

Jon was busy sprawling across Ryan's bed and flicking through the channels on the TV. "You should let us take you shopping," Jon said, lazily.

"You hate shopping," Ryan said, as Brendon finished rinsing the shampoo out of Ryan's hair and started smoothing conditioner that smelled like coconuts right through to the tips.

"You need new clothes," Jon said, standing up and sticking his head round the door into the bathroom, brandishing one of Ryan's shirts. "You wore this t-shirt in college."

"I'm broke," Ryan said, unable to sound anything but defensive. "Also, are you going through my bags?"

"Nothing on the TV," Jon shrugged his shoulders.

Brendon started to comb through his hair. "Come on, Ryan. You used to have like, this really unique style and now, what? You wear the same clothes all the time and you hate them all."

"Not all of them," Ryan said softly.

"Most of them," Jon told him, dropping the t-shirt and dragging a chair into the doorway. "Come on, Ry. Sometimes it's like you've forgotten who you are."

"It's not," Ryan said, stubbornly. "It's not like Spencer's going to suddenly turn around and want me because I'm wearing new pants. He doesn't want me, okay? He's not interested."

Brendon touched at his cheek. "Hey, chill. We just want you to be happy. And we've already established that Spencer's a dumb fuck for not realizing how great you are, so."

"Ry," Jon said, leaning his head against the tiles. "Look, I know you're in Vegas because of your dad, but you've put your life on hold for too long. Remember college?"

Ryan shrugged his shoulders. "What about it?"

Jon smiled. "You used to dress how you wanted to dress."

"I drew fucking birds on my cheeks," Ryan said, crankily. "I was fucking weird."

"I liked the birds," Brendon said. "Stay fucking still so I can cut your hair and make you look awesome, okay?"

" _You_ liked the birds," Jon said, softly. "What do you like now?"

"I like-" Ryan stopped. "It's my job, okay? I have to be professional. You want me to draw birds on my face again?"

"I want you to do what the fuck you want to do," Jon told him, stuffing his hands in his jeans. "And not what you think you have to do."

Ryan picked at the knee of his pants. "I can't go to work with fucking pictures on my face," he said, almost to himself.

Jon shrugged. "I don't care," he said. "Look, Ryan, we're not pushing you to do this because we want Spencer fucking Smith to fall in love with you. We want _you_ to be happy because we love you."

Ryan ducked his gaze. He held his hand out and Jon squeezed it.

Brendon slapped him gently. "Stop moving, dickface, or else you'll end up with a mullet."

 

An hour later, Ryan couldn't stop staring at himself in the mirror. It was a simple cut, sleek and stylish and it was almost like having a stranger look back at him. "See?" Brendon said with a grin, "You look totally hot."

Ryan touched at his hair. It hung longer at the front than at the back, not quite long enough to put behind his ears. Brendon had straightened it and it looked really good.

"Also," Brendon went on, rooting through his bag only to come out with a tub of hair wax, "you can also do this." He scooped a little onto his fingers, and spiked up some of the hair in the middle. "Hot _and_ cool," he said. "Killer combination, Ross."

"You're better at this than you were at that stupid business degree," Ryan told him.

Brendon shrugged. "But with that stupid business degree I can run my own salon. At least I can in a few years. So not a total waste."

Ryan touched at his face in the mirror.

"I'm hungry," Jon moaned, from the other room. He was sprawled across Ryan's bed again, rifling through the drawers in the nightstand.

"Have a gummy worm," Brendon rolled his eyes. "We're not going out for food until Ryan's all dressed up, so."

Jon gave him the finger. "Hurry up."

 

A half hour later and they were finally ready. They hadn't been able to rustle up much of a change without hitting the stores but Brendon had brought a bag full of his shirts and he and Ryan were much the same size, even though Ryan had legs that were about three times as long as Brendon's.

"You don't hate me for my short chicken legs, do you?" Brendon ducked under Jon's arm and slid his hand around his waist while they were waiting for the elevator.

"No," Jon told him, "I hate you because I've been hungry for about fifteen hours and all you thought to bring with you were gummy worms."

"Suck it up," Brendon rolled his eyes. "Ryan looks hot."

Ryan _did_. Okay, so it wasn't quite what he would have chosen for himself, but he looked good. He'd packed a pair of jeans seemingly by accident, and teamed with one of Brendon's too small t-shirts and his black jacket over the top, he couldn't deny the fact he looked good. He and Brendon had gone all out with the eye makeup, Brendon producing the old stage-makeup box that he and Ryan had used to share back when they were in college. Some of the makeup was past its best but both of them were sporting dark, smoky-smudged eyes, stripes of color blending in to one another. Even Jon had relented when Brendon clambered on top of him, smudges of gray under each eye. He'd refused to let Ryan draw on him with eyeliner though.

"So, guys, where are we going?" Ryan asked, once they were in the elevator. Ryan kept staring at himself in the mirror; it was almost like he'd stepped back in time a few years.

"Pizza," Brendon and Jon said, as one.

Ryan rolled his eyes, and they all laughed, tumbling out of the elevator and into the lobby, right into the path of Spencer Smith.

"Ryan," Spencer said. "Um, wow."

Ryan flushed, squaring his shoulders. "Hey," he said, awkwardly.

Spencer had a big paper bag in his hand, but he bundled it under his arm so he could hold his hand out for Jon and Brendon to shake. "Spencer Smith," he said, "You guys must be Ryan's friends."

"Yeah," Jon said. "I'm Jon."

"Brendon." Brendon could never actually manage to be impolite so he grinned at Spencer and shook his hand for a moment too long.

"So," Spencer said. "I was just going to drop by your room, Ryan, see if you'd eaten."

"We were just going out for pizza," Brendon told him.

There was a long silence. Ryan licked at his lips and tried not to think about what it was that Spencer was looking at.

"Um," Brendon went on, because Brendon could never abide silences, "You could come with us if you wanted. The pizza is really good."

Spencer looked surprised, just for a moment. Then he nodded, looking at Ryan. "Yes, if that's okay with you, Ryan. That would be good. Thanks."

Ryan smiled awkwardly. "It's really good pizza," he said.

"Well, I've been craving pizza," Spencer said. "Look, let me just leave this behind the hotel desk. I'll pick it up later." He showed them the paper bag.

"Jeez," Jon said, under his breath, shoving Brendon as Spencer went over to the concierge and handed her his package. "You are such a dick."

"It's okay," Ryan said. "Look, he's a nice guy, okay? He's not going to make me feel awkward. It's not his fault he doesn't like me like that."

Brendon elbowed Ryan in the side. "Dude, seriously. Did you just see the way he looked at you?"

Jon rolled his eyes. "Brendon, shut the fuck up, okay?"

Brendon shrugged. "Just telling it like I see it."

Ryan ducked his gaze and shoved his hands into his pockets.

 

They went for pizza at a little Italian place Ryan hadn't been to since they'd finished college. Some of the wait staff seemed to recognize Ryan and Brendon with their painted faces, waving them in and seating them in one of the booths at the back, Jon grinning and following, Spencer bringing up the rear.

Ryan ducked in and took the seat by the wall; he expected Brendon or Jon to sit opposite him but Spencer slid along the bench.

"I hope you don't mind me tagging along," Spencer said, in a low voice. "It's just, well. Business trips can get a bit lonely sometimes, that's all. I'm sorry for butting in on your plans."

"No," Ryan said, shaking his head. "It's fine. We're just hanging out. Brendon's right, they do good pizza here."

"The best," Brendon grinned, sliding in next to Ryan and kissing him on the cheek. "Do you remember that time we came here after midterms?"

"God, how could we forget," Jon said, sliding in next to Spencer and shaking his head. "Brendon hadn't slept in about two days," he explained, as Ryan dissolved into laughter.

"Caffeine pills," Brendon explained with a grin. "And coffee."

"And _sugar_ ," Ryan said. "So much sugar."

"I think I might have danced on the tables," Brendon confided. "I threw up a lot after that."

"Yep," Jon nodded, "that you did."

Spencer grinned. "Sounds like fun."

"It was," Ryan said. "It really was."

When Ryan looked up from his menu, Spencer was watching him with a careful look on his face.

 

They ordered too much food; jalapeno poppers and pizzas and fries and round after round of beers. Spencer was nice; he laughed at Brendon's jokes and talked about baseball with Jon ("Oh _no_ ," Brendon said, resting his cheek against Ryan's shoulder, "Jon's found someone else to bore about sports. We should have seen the warning signs and run for cover, Ryan Ross").

Ryan found himself grinning stupidly across the table as Spencer told them scurrilous, scandalous stories about business trips with stupidly important people from the gaming industry. ("What did you _do_?" Brendon asked, hiding behind his fingers. "My brain hurts just hearing about it."

"Turned around and ran the other way," Spencer said. "I couldn't face the chicken the next day though.")

Brendon elbowed Ryan gently after they'd finished the jalapenos, grinning at him and curling his fingers around Ryan's wrist. Ryan tangled his fingers with his and leaned his head against Brendon's shoulder.

When Ryan looked up, Spencer was watching him again. Ryan pretended not to notice, and stole a piece of pizza from Jon's plate.

"So," Spencer said, when he'd eaten about half of his pizza. "I never asked where you guys all know each other from."

Jon grinned. "We go way back, me and Ryan Ross."

Ryan buried his face in his hands. "Don't tell this story, Jon."

Brendon clapped. "I _love_ this story."

Jon winked at Spencer. "So, yeah, first day of the school year? And I've known these kids, like, my whole life. We've puked at each other's birthday parties. And in walks little Ryan Ross, looking like he hated every single one of us just for breathing-"

"I _did_ ," Ryan said. "You weren't-" he glanced at Spencer, but Spencer was watching Jon. "I didn't want to live in Chicago," he amended.

Spencer eyes flicked to Ryan, just for a moment. Ryan didn't meet his gaze.

"And Ms. Janelle made him stand there and say his name to the whole class, only he wouldn't, he just stood there with his arms folded and said _I want to go home now please_."

"I really, really wanted to go home," Ryan explained. "I was hoping that would be an option if I asked nicely enough."

"They really didn't let you go home, though," Jon went on, "so what did you do?"

"I went anyway," Ryan said, rolling his eyes.

Spencer burst out laughing.

"Yep, little Ryan Ross—he was knee-high to a grasshopper back then, gust of wind could have blown him over—"

"I remember," Spencer said, with a smile. "You never ate enough. Mom was always trying to feed you sandwiches."

Ryan's mouth was suddenly dry. "Yeah," he said, quietly. "She'd always cut the crusts off for me." He bit his lip. "I didn't think you remembered."

"I remember," Spencer told him, softly.

Jon's gaze flicked between the two of them. "Anyway," he said, going on with his story, "Ryan just stood up and walked out of math class, I don't know what Ms. Janelle thought, maybe that he'd just gone to the bathroom, I don't know, but Ryan just walked right out of the front doors and out the gate."

Spencer shook his head. "Where'd you end up?"

"I stuck my thumb out and asked people if they'd take me home to dad," Ryan said, shrugging. "but no one seemed to want to drive me all the way back to Vegas so they took me back into school."

"At which point, they sat him next to me," Jon said, laughing.

"And that was that?" Spencer asked, "Best friends forever?"

Jon rolled his eyes. "Ryan wouldn't talk to any of us for weeks." He grinned across the table, waiting until Ryan smiled back, resting his chin on his hand. "But after that, yeah. We were pretty much stuck with each other."

Spencer smiled, but Ryan knew Spencer's smiles by now, and this one didn't quite reach his eyes. Ryan wondered why.

"So, Brendon," Spencer said. "How'd they meet you?"

Brendon dribbled tomato sauce down his chin, wiping it off with his sleeve and sticking his middle finger up at Ryan when he elbowed him. "Me and Ryan," Brendon confided, "We bonded at college. We made our own club, the _we hate our majors because our parents forced us to do them_ club. Sure, it didn't have an easy acronym, but-"

"You never told me you hated college," Spencer said, turning to Ryan.

"I didn't hate college," Ryan said, gulping back the remains of his beer and signaling for another one. "Brendon's wrong." He ignored Jon's raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, of course I am," Brendon went on, "Because Ryan grew up wanting to be a secretary-"

"Brendon," Ryan hissed. "Shut up." He ducked his gaze away from Spencer's, messing with the remains of his pizza.

"What _did_ you want to do?" Spencer asked him.

"It doesn't really matter," Ryan told him. "My mom would pay for accounting, she wouldn't pay for anything else. So."

Brendon, aware of his mistake, started to talk again, "Yeah, and clearly I always wanted to grow up to be a business major, so Ryan and I used to meet up to bitch about everyone else."

"You weren't roommates?" Spencer asked, still not taking his eyes off Ryan.

"I lived with my mom," Ryan said. "Technically."

"Technically?"

"Most of the time he stayed with me or Jon," Brendon said. "It was kind of cool," he confided. "Except he had really smelly feet."

Ryan calmly punched Brendon in the shoulder. "My feet do not smell."

Spencer burst out laughing, a long low laugh that had Ryan grinning and ducking his head.

 

They stayed out too late, drinking beer and finishing off with ice cream sundaes, Ryan laughing and remembering why it was he loved his friends. Spencer kept looking at him—which was weird, but strangely, not that uncomfortable—and Brendon and Jon kept up a steady conversation which meant that Ryan didn't have to think much about what to say.

They finally left when all the wait staff were stood over them, politely pointing out that everyone else had left.

"Right," Spencer said, pulling out his wallet. "Let me get this."

"No," Brendon said, as Jon said,

"We couldn't."

"Really," Ryan said. "No."

"We invited _you_ out," Brendon said.

Ryan wondered if many people offered to buy two-bit pizza and beer for Spencer on a regular basis. He wondered if he'd actually told Jon and Brendon that Spencer was a bona fide millionaire.

They all chipped in, refusing to even let Spencer get the tip. "Our treat," Brendon said.

They called cabs and waited for them out on the sidewalk, teeth chattering. Brendon ducked under Jon's arm and wrapped his arms around Jon's middle, under his hoodie. "You are my personal radiator, Jon Walker," Brendon said, blissfully.

Ryan pulled his hands inside his sleeves and wrapped his jacket tighter around him. Spencer had on the same gloves and scarf he'd been wearing in the rental on the way back from the airport.

Jon and Brendon's cab arrived first and they hugged Ryan to within an inch of his life, Brendon kissing his cheek and Jon his forehead, both of them wrapping their arms around Ryan.

They shook hands with Spencer, Brendon giving him an impromptu hug, and then the cab left with both of them leaning over the back seat and waving at Ryan till the cab turned the corner.

"You okay?" Spencer asked, as their cab pulled up.

"Yeah," Ryan said, nodding furiously. He hated leaving Jon and Brendon, and he busied himself sending them text messages all the way back.

 

Back at the hotel, Spencer asked if Ryan would wait while he picked up his messages and the package he'd left at reception earlier.

Ryan swallowed. "Sure," he said awkwardly.

"Your friends seemed nice," Spencer said, once they were in the elevator.

"They are," Ryan said, softly. "The best."

Spencer smiled. "Thank you for letting me come along. I know that we haven't really um, hung out much before this weekend-"

"No," Ryan hastened to assure him. "It was fine. It was nice." It sort of _was_. It had been. Spencer was a nice guy to hang with.

At Ryan's floor, Spencer followed him out of the elevator.

Ryan stared at him. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Spencer flushed. "Walking you to your door?"

"Okay," Ryan said, nodding. "Right." His heart was beating too fast. He started walking, Spencer a step behind. "Um, this is me," he said, when they got to his room.

"Right," Spencer said. "Can I come in?"

"Um," Ryan's breath caught in his throat. "Yes?"

Ryan's room was about a quarter of the size of Spencer's, probably smaller. Spencer's was a suite; Ryan's was just a bedroom and a bathroom - Spencer's office area was probably bigger than Ryan's bedroom. His clothes were strewn across the floor after Brendon and Jon had been through his suitcase, and the bathroom was a disaster, towels everywhere. They'd been in such a rush to leave that they'd just piled all of Brendon's make up and hair stuff into his bag, just so that they could leave and Jon could eat. There was a pile of books falling off the nightstand and across his pillow, a couple of notebooks and a pen open on the bed.

Ryan swallowed.

Spencer put down his package and his gloves and scarf and hat on the chair by the door, where Jon had sat to watch Brendon work his magic earlier. "I, um-" he started.

It was kind of weird, seeing Spencer Smith lost for words.

"I had a real nice time tonight," Spencer said finally.

"Uh-huh," Ryan said, accidentally bumping into the TV. "Right."

"So," Spencer said, moving forward so that he was in Ryan's space. "I never said how much I liked your new haircut."

"Brendon did it," Ryan said. "He's pretty amazing at it."

"He is," Spencer touched at Ryan's forehead, smoothing his hair away from his face. "It looks pretty amazing. _You_ look pretty amazing. I was hoping I could maybe," he flushed, "maybe kiss you, Ryan."

Ryan's eyes met Spencer's. He couldn't read Spencer's expression. He couldn't quite figure out where this had come from, why it had taken him by surprise. "But," he said, "you're not interested in me like that. That's what you said."

"I think maybe I was wrong," Spencer explained, eyes on Ryan's mouth. His thumb touched at Ryan's temple, his cheek.

"But," Ryan started, the flat of his hand against Spencer's chest. He was having trouble hearing over the rushing in his ears. "You said you weren't interested in someone like me. That's what you said."

"I was wrong," Spencer murmured, pressing his mouth to Ryan's.

He tasted like beer, like the cold Chicago evening, like the soft scent of the hotel room.

Ryan pushed him away. "You're not in love with me," he said, tightly, touching at his mouth.

Spencer looked at him for a moment, and shook his head. "But Ryan-"

"You just think I look pretty amazing tonight," Ryan went on, "but this," he ran his fingers through his hair, roughing it up. "It's just hair gel and straightening irons. And this-" he smeared at his makeup, fingertips coming away a hazy mess of color, "-this is just makeup."

"Ryan," Spencer said, appalled. He closed his fingers around Ryan's wrist. "Stop, please, it's not what you think."

"I haven't changed," Ryan said, "Underneath, I haven't changed and you don't want me."

"Maybe _I've_ changed," Spencer said softly. "Maybe that's the difference."

Ryan rubbed at his face. His fingertips were coming away streaked with color.

"I think maybe I should leave." Spencer swallowed. "Look," he touched at the package he'd brought up from downstairs, opening up the paper bag and pulling something out. "I bought this for you earlier. I asked the guy at the store, he said it was new, so. I thought you might not have read it yet."

Ryan didn't look at it until he heard the door close behind Spencer. It was the latest Murakami novel, fresh out in hardcover.

Ryan bit back a sob.

 

The following morning, Spencer and Ryan were meeting Bob and his colleagues to thrash out the minor details of the proposal. Ryan wasn't entirely sure how useful he would be—especially when he hadn't slept that well and he was trying his best not to make eye contact with Spencer—but Spencer insisted. Ryan had dressed back in his normal clothes, and flattened his hair down, and tried not to notice when Spencer watched him all the way across the lobby and into the rental.

"Look," Spencer said, once they were on their way to the Bryar Group's offices, "about last night."

"It's okay," Ryan said dully, "we'd both been drinking."

Spencer looked at him. "I didn't mean that, Ryan. I meant-" he stopped, sighing. "Look, last night when I met you guys coming out of the elevator, I was on my way up to your room. I wanted to see if you'd come out to dinner with me."

"Because business trips are boring and lonely," Ryan filled in for him.

"Because I liked talking to you," Spencer said. "I had fun, Friday night in the bar, you talking to me about books. Even on the plane, listening to your iPod. I had fun. I like you, Ryan."

Ryan swallowed and turned to stare out of the window. "Yeah," he said.

"I do," Spencer told him. "I even went out and bought a pile of those books you suggested."

Ryan narrowed his eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah, I was on my way back from the bookstore when I met you guys last night. It wasn't- I didn't try and kiss you because you'd dressed up nice. I wouldn't do that to you. I just- I had a good time. I'm sorry about trying to kiss you and ruining everything. I hadn't meant to do that."

Ryan shook his head. "You didn't ruin everything," he said, quietly. He could feel Spencer watching him as they waited at the intersection for the lights to change.

"Okay," Spencer said, finally. "Good."

 

The morning was long and it was boring, but there was lots of coffee and Ryan helped himself to pastries as the others talked. Bob and Ray seemed genuine enough and Ray even came over to talk to Ryan during one of the breaks, saying "I hear you're from Chicago? Which part?"

Ryan knew that he was only being polite but it was a relief to make uncomplicated conversation. Ray told him how he played guitar in his time off, and Ryan asked him if he was in a band.

Ray grinned. "Me and Bob," he said, confidingly, "we jam together. Bob's kick-ass on the drums and I like to shred. Sometimes when Frankie Iero's—you know him, right?—over from New Jersey he brings his guitar. We rock out. It's pretty cool."

Ryan tried not to laugh, because the very idea of these men—smartly dressed, hard-nosed businessmen—rocking out was ridiculous.

Ray though, Ray laughed first. "I know, man, I know. Ridiculous. But it's cool. We have a good time. Do you play?"

"I'm thinking about it," Ryan said, surprising himself. "My best friend's been dragging me to shitty band practices since we were twelve. He thinks I should learn guitar so I can play with him. His boyfriend wants to sing and Jon plays bass, so. They want someone else on guitar to play with."

"You should," Ray said, nodding as Bob caught his eye. "Right, back to the daily grind. Good talking to you."

Ryan smiled, a genuine smile, and for the next hour he doodled guitars down the margin of his notebook and tried not to stare at Spencer and remember what it felt like to kiss him, if only for a moment.

 

They almost missed the flight back to Las Vegas, and it was only Spencer sweet-talking the guy behind the check-in desk that meant they made it on board. They'd left late from the Bryar Group offices and then Ryan had tried to take them on a short cut to the airport but they'd ended up stuck in traffic, Spencer tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and Ryan nervously staring out the window as they willed the traffic to move faster.

They were in business class again, right up at the front of the plane, and they ordered coffees and sat back, waiting for the seatbelt sign to go off. Ryan fumbled in his bag for his iPod, pulling it out and swallowing, hard.

"Um," he said, awkwardly. "You want to, maybe listen?"

Spencer stopped tapping his fingers against the fold-down table and nodded. "Yeah," he said, taking an earbud. "Thanks. That would be nice."

Ryan's skin couldn't help but prickle at the closeness, but he shook the awkwardness off and they both leaned over the arm-rest as Ryan cycled down his list of albums and started to pick out a playlist.

"No way," Spencer said, after Ryan had added _Brown Sugar_ to the playlist after scrolling past The Beatles. "No way are you having _Brown Sugar_ without something from _Revolver_."

Ryan rolled his eyes as Spencer wrestled the iPod away from him, scrolling back up and hiding the screen from Ryan. "No fair," Ryan said, trying to see. "You could be putting all sorts of crap on the list."

Spencer grinned and raised an eyebrow. "You will just have to wait and see, won't you," he said, still hiding the screen from Ryan. "Wait, do you really have Mandy Moore on here?"

Ryan might have pouted. "Jon put it on there," he said.

Spencer coughed. "All of her albums, Ryan?"

"She seems like a nice person, okay?"

Spencer raised both his eyebrows. "O-kay," he said, leaning back in his seat. "Okay. I'm not one to judge-"

"Give that back," Ryan said. "Seriously. My turn."

"No," Spencer said, holding the iPod out of Ryan's reach. "I'm going to surprise you."

"Fine," Ryan said, folding his arms and trying to hide his smile. "Go on then."

"I will," Spencer said.

Ryan thought that Spencer's choice wasn't really all that bad, although to be fair it couldn't really have been, not with a collection like Ryan's to pick from.

 

They got back to the resort pretty late on Sunday night but not late enough that the boutiques were closed. Las Vegas was a twenty four hour city and the Pas de Cheval hotel and casino was no different.

Awkwardly tapping his foot while waiting for the elevator, Ryan made up his mind to come back downstairs once he'd left his belongings in his apartment and maybe pick up some eyeliner from one of the stores. He was trying to remember what Jon and Brendon had said about Ryan just being himself, but it was strange, trying to peel back the layers and find out just how to be him.

Spencer stilled him with a hand to the elbow. "Thanks for coming with me this weekend," he said. "It was nice getting to hang out with you."

Ryan managed a smile. "Yeah," he said, as the elevator doors opened silently, "It was." They'd taken it in turns to pick songs for the rest of the flight; almost four hours of bickering over whether Kanye West was better than Jay-Z (they'd both been agreed on that— _yes_ ) or were the Stones better than the Beatles. It had been fun, easy even, and Spencer had admitted that he'd heard Ryan say earlier that he was thinking of learning guitar. ("You should," Spencer had said. "I remember you saying when we were kids that you wanted to grow up and be in a band."

"Really?" Ryan had said. "You remember that? You can't have been more than about seven."

Spencer had shrugged, but his eyes hadn't left Ryan's face. "I remember," he'd said, and Ryan's cheeks had flushed.)

"So," Spencer said, as Ryan watched the numbers tick by as the elevator moved up the floors. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow in the office?"

Ryan nodded. Never that accomplished at making small talk, Ryan found it even harder to talk when he was trapped in an enclosed space with a man who made Ryan's heart beat faster and his skin prickle. "This is me," Ryan said, as the elevator doors slid open.

"Wait," Spencer said, stopping Ryan with a touch to his sleeve. "I like you," he said, quietly, "I just want you to give me a chance to prove that to you." He leaned in and kissed Ryan on the cheek.

Ryan swallowed hard. "Um-" he touched at his face, unsure of quite what Spencer meant. "I guess I'll see you in the morning."

"Night, Ryan," Spencer said, leaning back against the wall of the elevator as the doors closed.

 

Ryan couldn't sleep.

He went through his closet, carefully weeding out the things that couldn't be saved, and by the time he finally fell face first into the pillows there was a black trash bag full of clothes for him to drop off at Goodwill the next time he had a spare hour in the middle of the day. He also had another—much smaller - pile of things he wanted to try and adjust on the sewing machine; he'd gotten quite good at customizing his clothes when he'd been at college and he was pretty sure his mom's old sewing machine was still in the loft at his dad's place. He planned on tapering the legs of a couple of pairs of pants as a stopgap until he could buy a few new pairs, if he could dredge up the energy during the week.

Waking up and getting out of his apartment was hard, but Ryan managed to get into the office before Spencer. He was half way through putting a new filter in the coffee machine when he heard the door open behind him.

"Tell me there's coffee, Ryan," Spencer said, tiredly, dropping his briefcase on his chair and coming back out to lean on Ryan's desk and stare pitifully at the coffee machine.

"Five minutes," Ryan told him, filling up the machine with fresh grounds and flicking the switch.

"It better be good coffee." Spencer rubbed at his eyes. "Couldn't seem to wake up this morning."

Ryan had already had two cups before he could face uncapping his new eyeliner pencil that morning. He'd started simply, charcoal smudges under each eye. He'd needed another cup before he'd managed to leave his apartment.

Ryan came over and leaned on the edge of his desk by Spencer and listened to the rhythmic hiss and drip of the coffee machine. When the pot was half full, Spencer rolled his eyes.

"Okay," he said, standing up, "I can't wait. I'm going in." He stole the coffee pot out from under the filter and poured what was there into two mugs, ignoring the angry hiss of the coffee dripping against the hot plate. He added two spoonfuls of sugar to his own but none to Ryan's.

It occurred to Ryan that Spencer had never once made him coffee.

"Sugar?" Spencer asked. "Creamer?" He looked apologetic. "This is a really shitty thing to have to admit after working with you for so long, but I have no idea how you take your coffee."

"Sugar in the mornings," Ryan told him. "Black."

Spencer added sugar to Ryan's mug and brought it over to him. Ryan smiled as Spencer leaned over his own mug, breathing in the smell.

"That's better," he said, a minute later. "Okay," he grinned. "Back to the grindstone."

Ryan followed him in to his office with his notebook and his digital recorder.

 

They were both flagging by late afternoon; Ryan was fairly sure that Spencer had had as little sleep as he had, judging by the way he was yawning and mainlining coffee before his meeting with the vice president.

"You're late," Ryan called, once the clock ticked past five past.

"He'll be even later," Spencer called back, adjusting his tie in the mirror and smoothing back his hair. "He's coming over from the South Halls. That gives me at least ten minutes leeway."

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Ryan said, pulling together the documents Spencer would need to take with him. "You know what he's like when he's pissed."

"Yeah, yeah," Spencer said, coming out of his office and shrugging on his jacket. "Do I look presentable?"

Ryan rolled his eyes and held out the papers for Spencer to take. "As always," he said.

"Good enough," Spencer said, with a grin. "I like the eye make-up, by the way."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "Get out of here," he said. "Shoo."

 

By Thursday, Ryan was beginning to despair of the human race. Spencer had spent most of the week on the phone, yelling at various people about the stupid log flume river rapids ride, and the situation was getting ridiculous. As far as Ryan could see it, nobody was listening to reason and Spencer was repeating the same argument over and over again in the hope that someone engaged their brain and actually did what he was telling them to.

"I am working with a bunch of morons," Spencer said exasperatedly, sticking his head round the door a minute after slamming the phone down for the fifth time in a row. "Also," he sighed, "My mom is dropping by at some point this afternoon. It might be preferable if she didn't catch me swearing at the vice president, so I'm going to keep the door shut. Can you just, I don't know, buzz me when she arrives?"

Ryan nodded. He hadn't seen Spencer's mom since she'd kissed him goodbye when he was nine years old.

Spencer grinned. "Don't look so worried. She always liked you."

"Yeah," Ryan said. "When I was eight."

"And you haven't changed at all," Spencer teased. "Still drawing on yourself, for a start."

Ryan raised an eyebrow. He hadn't quite gotten back to the level of eye makeup he was wearing back when he was in college, but he had graduated from eye liner to shadow and pictures as the week had worn on. Today there was a tiny jagged arrow zigzagging from the corner of his eye to the tip of his cheekbone. He wasn't sure he was going to keep it up; for a start he really wasn't nineteen anymore and the drawings meant he had to get up half an hour earlier in the mornings, when the alarm went off early enough as it was. Plus, he wasn't sure if the style he had _then_ was the style he wanted to have _now_. "Are you criticizing my sartorial judgments, Mr. Smith?"

"I wouldn't dare to, Mr. Ross." Spencer laughed, his eyes crinkling. "Anyway. I like it."

Ryan smiled back, and tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.

Ryan's phone began to ring and Spencer rolled his eyes. "That'll be the VP. Patch him through will you?"

 

Spencer's mom turned up half way through Spencer's conference call with Frank Iero and Bob Bryar. She took one look at Spencer's closed door and one look at Ryan before she was holding her arms out for a hug.

"Ryan _Ross_ , as I live and breathe," she said, as Ryan awkwardly kissed her on the cheek.

"Hi Mrs. Smith," he said, biting his lip.

"Let me look at you," she said, holding him at arms length. "You're still too thin, Ryan. You need someone to feed you up, you always did. But this—" she touched at his hair, his cheekbone, "this I _like_. You always did have style, Ryan. I remember taking you boys shopping before school started, you always knew exactly what you would and wouldn't wear."

Ryan ducked his head. "It's nice to see you again," he said.

"I can't believe it," she went on, sitting down on the chair next to Ryan's desk. "Two years Spencer's been mentioning his assistant Ryan and _last month_ he tells me it's Ryan Ross."

"Mom," Spencer said, leaning against the doorjamb. Ryan hadn't heard the door open. "I'm pretty sure I told you before that."

"You did _not_ , Spencer." Mrs. Smith rolled her eyes and smiled, touching Ryan's knee as he sat down. "It's lovely to see you again, Ryan. I want to hear all about how you've been doing."

"Mom," Spencer said, again, "Will you leave Ryan alone?"

"No," she said, sweetly. "And make me a cup of coffee, Spencer."

Ryan couldn't help but laugh.

"That's more like it," she went on. "Now, we're having dinner on Saturday night—" her voice rose a notch "-and Spencer has deigned to grace us with his presence-"

" _Mom_."

"-and it would be lovely if you would join us. Spencer says your dad hasn't been so well either, but it would be very nice to see him again too, if he's free."

"I-" Ryan looked between Spencer and his mom, but Spencer didn't look overly perturbed at the idea of Ryan and his dad joining them for a meal. In fact, he was smiling.

"You should come," Spencer said, bringing a cup of milky coffee over to his mom. "Really."

Ryan couldn't think of a good enough reason to say no, especially once Spencer had reiterated the invitation. "Um, okay."

"Marvelous," Mrs. Smith said. "Six thirty for drinks?"

Ryan swallowed. "No alcohol," he said, his voice catching. He thought about his dad, and the way his hands shook as he tried to answer the phone or use the TV remote. His dad hadn't had a drink in three years but by then it had been too late to stop the onset of his liver disease.

After a beat, Spencer's mom nodded. "Fine."

Spencer was watching him shrewdly. "Come on, mom. You can badger Ryan all you want on Saturday. Come through to my office."

When the door shut, Ryan let out a long breath.

 

Saturday came around too soon. Ryan slept late in the morning, trying to catch up on weeks of long days and traveling, but he was still tired when he headed out shopping in the early afternoon.

Jon just sighed when Ryan called him to tell him what he was doing. "Finally," he said. He passed the phone over to Brendon, saying "He's going shopping."

"I want a Ryan Ross phoenix to rise from the ashes," Brendon told him, without preamble. "Brightly colored."

"With feathers?" Ryan said, as he headed for his car.

"Oh definitely," Brendon said. "The transformation wouldn't be complete without feathers."

"We want pictures," Jon told him, wrestling the phone off Brendon. "This is why cameraphones were invented."

Ryan laughed. "For feather shopping?"

"Exactly."

Ryan rolled his eyes and hung up.

 

He picked out one of his new outfits for dinner at Spencer's - tight black trousers and a black button down shirt. He didn't want to be too outrageous in front of his dad, so he tied a red velvet scarf around his waist as a belt, smudged kohl under his eyes and topped it all off with a new newsboy cap. He'd straightened his hair so it fell across his forehead and both Jon and Brendon had expressed their appreciation after Ryan had sent them both pictures, although Brendon had sent him another message saying _sad about lack of feathers :(((((_

Ryan sent one back saying _suck it up bden_.

 

They were going to be late to Spencer's parents' house; traffic across town had been a nightmare and his dad hadn't been ready, still sat on the edge of the bed and trying to get his shirt on when Ryan arrived to pick him up. Ryan had had to help him with the buttons—Ryan really had to look into getting him some shirts without buttons, because his dad's hands shook too much to deal with button downs anymore—and so it was almost seven by the time they were pulling up outside.

"Sorry we're late," Ryan said, as soon as Spencer opened the door. Ryan's dad was leaning on Ryan's elbow, and Ryan saw Spencer's double-take—swiftly hidden - when he realized that Ryan's dad was also using a cane.

"That's fine," Spencer said, opening the door wider. "It's nice to see you both; it's been a long time, Mr. Ross." Once Ryan had helped his dad through the door, Spencer held his hand out for him to shake. "My dad is through in the living room."

Ryan helped his dad sit down before shaking hands with Spencer's dad, who looked just the same as he always had. It was nice, Ryan thought as he shucked off his jacket, that some things did remain constant. He tried not to concentrate too much on the yellowish tinge to his dad's skin.

"I brought flowers for your mom," Ryan said awkwardly, as he hung up his jacket in the hallway, "and grape juice."

Spencer smiled. "You look good," he said, and kissed Ryan on the cheek as he took the flowers and grape juice.

"Thanks," Ryan told him, hoping that Spencer didn't notice that Ryan was blushing. "You too." Spencer was wearing dark indigo jeans with a white pinstriped button down, and an unbuttoned black vest.

Spencer laughed, and told Ryan to go sit down while he brought them drinks.

Spencer brought Ryan and his dad glasses of juice; Ryan carefully drank the top quarter of his and then swapped his glass for his dad's. His dad's hands shook too much to have full glasses anymore.

Mr. Smith and Ryan's dad were deep in conversation about how Ryan and Spencer had grown up so fast.

"I remember when they were tiny," Ryan's dad was saying, "and they used to dart around the house, always under our feet."

Ryan had wondered if he'd done the right thing in accepting Mr. and Mrs. Smith's invitation for his father, but Mr. Smith was in the middle of a joke about three businessmen and the Nevada desert, and Ryan's dad was laughing, so maybe it was going to be okay. When Mrs. Smith came in, she hugged Ryan, kissing him on the cheek and thanking him for the flowers. When Ryan's dad made to stand up, she stopped him with a hand, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

"It's lovely to see you, George," she said, kindly, "it's been far too long."

Ryan let out another long breath.

 

"How are you doing?" Spencer asked quietly, a few minutes later. He'd been helping his mom in the kitchen, but the food was virtually ready and he'd come into the living room to sit on the couch next to Ryan.

Ryan nodded slowly, taking in the photos on the mantel of Spencer and his sisters, over the years. He'd been the one to pick out gifts for the twins' last couple of birthdays but seeing their pictures really brought it home. The last time he'd seen them they'd been tiny; he didn't think they'd even been in kindergarten. "I never thought of your sisters being all grown up," he said, which didn't answer Spencer's question.

Spencer smiled, and touched his knee to Ryan's.

Ryan's breath caught, but he didn't move away. He didn't know what was going on between him and Spencer—but this cautious friendship was _nice_ , really nice and Ryan liked it.

"I don't think I do, either," Spencer confided, looking very serious. "Apparently I was a bit um, _fierce_ the last time Jackie brought a boyfriend home."

"Total understatement," Ginger said, coming in and overhearing Spencer's last comment. "Spencer terrified the poor kid. He hasn't been back since."

Spencer—somewhat surprisingly - went red and mumbled something under his breath.

"Don't be ridiculous, dear," she went on, breezily. "He was a perfectly nice boy. I don't care if you didn't like his shoes."

Ryan burst out laughing.

 

Mrs. Smith was apparently, a very good cook. They had chicken marinated in a tomato and garlic sauce; Ryan had had to pull his dad's plate over to cut the chicken into smaller pieces but once Ryan had had his first mouthful he thought he might be in love.

"Mrs. Smith," he said, "this is amazing."

"It really is," his dad said, shaking his head. "It's delicious."

Spencer's mom smiled. "I'd say thank you, but I'm afraid it was all a bit of magic trickery on my part—Spencer was the real chef around here today."

"You?" Ryan said, in surprise.

Spencer shrugged. "I like to cook."

"But this is _amazing_ ," Ryan said again, prodding at the chicken with his fork. "You did this?"

"Your complete shock is very heartening, Ryan," Spencer told him, with a smile. "But yes, I did."

 

"Do you still write stories, Ryan?" Mrs. Smith asked, as she finished her main course and tucked her knife and fork together on her plate.

Ryan tried to finish his mouthful, wiping his mouth on his napkin.

"Stories?" Spencer asked, shooting a sidelong glance at Ryan, one eyebrow raised.

"Don't you remember, honey?" Spencer's mom asked, pouring herself a glass of water and smiling at Ryan. "Ryan used to tell us them when he came over, and he always had a notebook with him."

"He still writes," Ryan's dad said, proudly. "He's a talented boy."

"Dad," Ryan said, flushing.

"I don't remember," Spencer said, his food forgotten. "Really?"

Ryan shrugged uneasily. He didn't much like to talk about his writing.

"And you still do it?" Spencer asked. "Are you any good?"

"You should ask him to show you some of his pieces sometime," Ryan's dad went on. He'd only eaten half of his food, Ryan noticed; his appetite was getting smaller as time went on. "He lets me read them sometimes."

Ryan covered his dad's hand with his own, just for a moment. "They're not that good," he said, embarrassed.

"They _are_ ," his dad said.

"I'd like to read them sometime, if that's okay," Spencer said. "I mean, if you don't mind."

Ryan avoided Spencer's gaze; he couldn't imagine that Spencer would like to read Ryan's stories or poems, but. "If you want," he said. "Sometime."

Spencer's smile was blinding. "Good," he said. "I'll look forward to it."

 

"Would you mind giving me a ride back to the resort?" Spencer asked, after they'd finished dessert and all had a cup of coffee and shared a box of chocolates. Ryan was helping his dad put his jacket on.

"Sure," Ryan said, after a moment, patting his dad on the shoulder. "I thought I saw your car in the driveway, though."

"Oh, mom's is in the shop," Spencer explained, handing Ryan his jacket. "I promised I'd lend her mine for a few days. I was going to call a driver to come by and pick me up but it seems pointless if you're going back there anyway."

Ryan had the distinct impression Spencer was lying. "Okay," he said. "But I've got to get dad settled first."

"Okay," Spencer said, "Fine by me."

 

Ryan's dad still lived in the same house Ryan had grown up in, down the block from Spencer's old house.

"I haven't been back here for _years_ ," Spencer said, as they pulled into his dad's street.

"It hasn't changed much," Ryan's dad said, from the passenger seat. "Still that terrible woman across the street, playing music on Saturday nights."

Spencer groaned. "She hasn't stopped? I remember her from when I was a kid. Every week without fail."

"Music's gotten worse too," Ryan's dad confided. "She's rediscovered the seventies. The last three weeks have been Abba on repeat."

Ryan laughed, and pulled into his dad's driveway.

He helped his dad get out of his shirt and into his pajamas while Spencer waited downstairs.

"He was always a nice boy," his dad said, nodding at the door. "His family are very kind."

"Yeah," Ryan said, thinking back to that moment where Spencer said _I'm not interested in someone like you_ and how he couldn't get that memory to stop hurting. "They're very nice."

"I wonder if you kids would still be friends if you'd grown up here rather than in Chicago," his dad went on. "If things had been different."

Ryan finished doing up his dad's pajama buttons. "I'm here now, dad," he said. "And I'm going to come back next week and take you shopping for some new clothes."

"My clothes are fine," his dad said.

"They're not if you can't get the buttons done up," Ryan said. "I want you to be comfortable."

"You're a good kid. I'm a lucky guy."

Ryan busied himself getting his dad into bed, pulling up the covers and making sure the glass of water was close enough for his dad to reach if he needed to. "I'll call you tomorrow, dad. Cara will be over to help you out of bed in the morning, so don't try and get up before she arrives just because you're a belligerent kind of guy, okay?"

His dad seemed to like the home nurses from the agency; Cara was friendly and polite and whenever Ryan spoke to her on the phone she always seemed very capable. He saluted him. "Aye, aye," he said, and closed his eyes.

Ryan kissed him on the cheek and turned the lamp off, trying to quell down the irrational jagged hatred he felt for his mother for keeping him away from his dad for so many years, just when his dad needed him the most.

He came downstairs to find Spencer looking at the mantelpiece full of photos of Ryan; Ryan growing up somewhere his dad wasn't. A long-distance childhood he didn't deserve.

"Can we just, I don't know. Go?" Ryan asked from the doorway, his voice tight.

Spencer nodded. "Of course," he said, without question, and followed Ryan out.

 

Ryan pulled in by the entrance of the park where he'd used to skateboard with Spencer when they were young.

"Do you mind?" he asked Spencer, opening his door. "I just need to get some fresh air or something."

Spencer shook his head. "Mind if I come with?" he asked.

"Sure," Ryan said, after a beat.

They walked down to the skate ramps. They hadn't been allowed to play there because they'd been too young and too small, but they'd always badgered their parents to let them stand and watch the older kids for a while after they'd finished up playing.

"Do you remember-" Ryan said, softly.

"Coming here?" Spencer slid his hands into his pockets. "Yeah."

"He's an alcoholic," Ryan said, apropos of nothing in particular. He shrugged his shoulders. "He hasn't had a drink in three years but it was too late by then. He'd been a drunk for too long. Too many years. He stopped too late."

Spencer let out a long breath. "Oh."

"Sometimes I hate my mom so much," Ryan went on. "I just think, if I'd been here-"

"It's not your fault," Spencer said, unable to hide his surprise.

"He was lonely and I wasn't here," Ryan said. "I got here too late. If I'd been here earlier-"

"Ryan," Spencer said, helplessly. "Alcoholism- it's a _disease_."

"I never wanted to move to Chicago with my mom," Ryan kept talking. "I hated it. I wanted to be here. I wanted to be with my dad, with, with _you_. If I'd been here, then he wouldn't have drunk, he would have been okay, he wouldn't be dying-"

"Ryan, _no_." Spencer grabbed Ryan's wrist, sliding his fingers around Ryan's pulse. "You don't know that. Maybe he still would have drunk, even if you'd been here."

" _No_ ," Ryan said, trying to shake Spencer's hand away. "He would have been okay, I would have been here and he wouldn't have needed to drink. I would have been able to make him stop."

"Hey," Spencer said, his fingers tightening around Ryan's wrist. "Hey, you can't think like this. You don't know what it would have been like. Maybe everything would have been the same only you would have been a kid living with an alcoholic. Maybe you'd have hated him-"

"Never," Ryan said fiercely. "He's my _dad_."

"It's not your fault," Spencer said, softly. "He wouldn't want you to blame yourself."

"I hate seeing him like that," Ryan said. "I hate that I have to help him get dressed. I hate that he's dying. I hate that he didn't get to see me grow up. I hate that my mom took that away from him. I hate that I miss my friends so much. I hate that sometimes I resent being here. I just-" he balled his hands into fists, unable to stop himself. His chest felt too tight, like he couldn't breathe properly. "I missed you so much," he said, trying to catch his breath. "Jon tells that stupid story but I was so fucking miserable, that whole first year. And you didn't even remember me. You just forgot."

Spencer let out a ragged breath. "I never forgot, Ryan." He smoothed back the hair from Ryan's forehead, and the breath caught in Ryan's throat. "I didn't. I missed you a lot, you can ask my mom. I think she kind of worried about me for a while there." He cleared his throat, touching at Ryan's cheek. "It's not your fault that your dad's sick. It isn't. You were just a kid when he started to drink and you couldn't have stopped him, Ryan. You _couldn't_."

"I would have been here," Ryan said fiercely. His heart ached.

"You're here now," Spencer told him, equally fiercely. "You're here and you can tell how proud he is of you. Did you hear how he talked about you tonight? He thinks you're pretty damn amazing."

Ryan let out a dry sob, and Spencer pulled him to his chest, wrapping his arms around Ryan's back. Ryan—who was just that bit taller than Spencer—buried his face in Spencer's hair. He wasn't going to cry, he _wasn't_ , but he couldn't get his breathing under control. His throat felt tight, his breath hitching.

"Shh," Spencer said, his hand in the small of Ryan's back, rubbing gently in circles. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

Ryan shut his eyes tightly, and tried not to cry.

"I'm okay," he said, a minute later, pulling away and turning around so he could wipe his eyes on his sleeve.

Spencer didn't move, just reached out a hand to Ryan's sleeve. "You want to go back to the car?" he asked. "Or we could stay here a while, if you want."

Ryan nodded quickly. "Stay here a while," he said, and he let out a sigh of relief when his voice didn't shake. "If that's okay."

"Sure," Spencer said.

They sat at the top of one of the skateboard ramps, feet hanging down over the edge.

"What was it like," Ryan asked, after a while, "growing up here?"

Spencer thought for a moment. "Kind of lonely," he said. "I don't know. I never really found my niche. I was good at school and I had friends and I had plans at the weekends, but." He shrugged. "I ended up in the Future Business Leaders of America club because I had a crush on the girl who was president, and it just kind of snowballed from there. We just kept competing for the rest of high school for who could get into the best college. It was the same when I got there. Sometimes I feel like my whole life has just been me, accidentally finding myself with a future mapped out." He picked at his jeans. "What about Chicago?"

Ryan wrinkled his nose. "I never really got on with my mom. She married this guy who I didn't much like and who didn't much like me. It was okay. I met Jon."

"And you two never-" Spencer waved his hand in the air.

"What- oh. No." he laughed. "No. Never." He pulled his knees up to his chin, rested his cheek against them. "Mom doesn't like the fact that I'm gay," he said, eventually. "She doesn't really like Jon. We don't talk much."

"Mom doesn't like that I haven't settled down yet," Spencer told him, after a moment. "I don't think she much cares whether it's with a girl or with a guy."

"When did you know, you know, that you liked guys as well as girls?" Ryan smoothed his hair behind his ear, rubbing his cheek against the knee of his jeans. Ryan had realized he was gay when he was about fourteen, when he found himself jerking off to the idea of strong, muscular arms and stubble beneath his fingertips. It hadn't taken him long to figure it out.

Spencer shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe, seventeen or something? It didn't come up till I was at college. But it wasn't, like, a shock. I just sort of knew, somewhere in the back of my mind, that I wasn't averse to the idea. I met this guy called Dan; he was nice." He shrugged again. "He was a good first time."

Ryan didn't say anything, closing his eyes.

"Look," Spencer started, "you know what we were talking about earlier? Your writing? I really would be interested in seeing some of it, if you'd let me."

Ryan started. "I-" he said, sitting up and looking at Spencer.

"I mean it," Spencer said. "I'd really like to read something you've written."

"Are you sure?" Ryan asked. He wasn't that keen on sharing his stuff; even Jon hadn't seen all of it. "Some of it's pretty... obscure."

Spencer smiled. "If it's anything like the books you recommended me, then that's not a surprise. But I'd still like to read some of it."

Ryan nodded slowly. "Sure," he said. "If you want."

"I do." Spencer smiled. "Come on, it's getting cold. Let's get back."

 

In the elevator, Spencer's hand rested in the curve of Ryan's back. "I'll walk you to your apartment," he said, "so you can get me that writing you promised."

"Now?" Ryan asked in surprise.

"Sure," Spencer said. "So you don't have any time to talk yourself out of it or re-edit anything that's fine the way it is."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Are you sure you're not a writer yourself?"

Spencer grinned. "Not me. A cook through and through."

When the elevator doors slid open, Spencer followed Ryan down the hallway, talking about the book he'd been reading that morning—one of the ones that Ryan had told him about. "Do you have any books about people who don't die miserable and alone, Ryan?"

"Yes," Ryan said. "I just like books about the frailty of the human condition too."

"You like books about people being miserable," Spencer said, decidedly, as Ryan unlocked his door. "I think I'm going to start a campaign. A _books can be happy too!_ campaign. I'm going to make you read _Anne of Green Gables_ or something."

Ryan raised an eyebrow, switching on the lights and shutting the door behind Spencer. "You're about five years too late with that. Jon and Brendon made pins. They made a _website_. Anyway, Murakami isn't miserable."

"I'll let you know when I've read him," Spencer said, making his way over to Ryan's couch and shifting the pile of clothes he found there onto one of the arms so he could sit down. "After I've read some of yours."

Ryan nodded slowly and went over to the shelves by the window. He had notebook after notebook filled with his dark, spiny scrawl (like a drunken _spider's_ , Jon had always said. Brendon just rolled his eyes and suggested Ryan buy a typewriter if he wanted to be old fashioned about his writing, at least then other people could actually _read_ it). Ryan liked writing in notebooks though, he liked the leisurely way he could think his ideas out as he wrote, liked the satisfaction of crisp new sheets of paper. It was more personal than using his laptop all the time.

It was strange that he was beginning to feel comfortable around Spencer now in a way he could never really have dreamed of just a few weeks ago. Jon was probably right when he'd cautiously warned Ryan of this being just another crush; Ryan had fallen in love with Spencer without really knowing anything about him. He'd mixed the faint memories of his childhood with the side of Spencer he'd gotten to see in the office, and on Valentines Day they'd come together and Ryan had decided he was in love with him. It certainly hadn't been a lie; Ryan didn't think he'd ever felt so strongly about anyone before. All the same, he'd known nothing about Spencer then; hadn't talked with him or laughed together or sat at the top of a skate ramp late into the evening. He hadn't known what music Spencer liked, or what he did in his spare time or how he'd ended up being so successful so young. They hadn't been friends, not really.

Ryan wondered how things had changed.

"Hey," Spencer said, disturbing him from his reverie. "Are you okay? Seemed like you were on a different planet there for a minute."

Ryan managed a smile. "Yeah," he said. "I'm fine." He picked out two notebooks and a sheaf of paper he'd bound one day in the office when Spencer had been out at a meeting. If Spencer noticed it looked much the same as many of his office documents then he didn't say anything when Ryan handed them over.

Spencer grinned. "Just to check," he said, "Are these going to give me nightmares? Or should I leave them till the morning?"

"You're going to read them _now_?" Ryan asked, in disbelief.

"No time like the present," Spencer said. He shrugged, glancing down at the pages in his hand. "I'm intrigued, okay? I want to see."

Ryan swallowed, his face blank. "Okay," he said. "This one is a short story," he pointed at the bound pages; "this notebook is poetry, some of it quite old, and this one-" he touched at the second notebook, "this one is the storyline for a novel. I might never get around to writing it, but. It's there, anyway."

"Okay," Spencer said. "I'm gonna go read them now."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Sure you are," he said.

He followed Spencer to the door. "Look-" he said. "Thanks for before." He shrugged his shoulder. "You know."

Spencer watched him for a moment, before nodding. "Anytime," he said, and he touched at Ryan's wrist briefly with the tips of his fingers. "I mean that," he said.

Ryan nodded slowly. "Thanks."

He watched Spencer walk back down the hallway to the elevator.

 

On Sunday, Ryan had a list of chores as long as his arm. He had laundry and grocery shopping to do and clothes to adjust. He spoke to his dad and went over before lunch to pick up the sewing machine from the loft, and to do his dad's accounts and make sure that his bills were all paid. Ryan had very little interest in his own apartment and had more than once left bills so long that he'd had his power go off, but he was methodical and organized when it came to his dad, and the bills were always paid on time.

He got back to his apartment late in the afternoon and cooked ramen. He ate it by the window, a vaguely distorted view of the strip visible if he craned his head, and read the Murakami that Spencer had bought for him. He was disturbed an hour or so later by a knock at the door, and he slid an envelope in as a bookmark.

It was Spencer, and he had a funny look in his eyes and Ryan's notebooks in his hands. "These," Spencer said, pushing past Ryan without waiting for an invitation and standing in the middle of Ryan's apartment in jeans and flip-flops and a black t-shirt—"these are fucking amazing, Ryan. Astoundingly good."

"No need to sound so surprised," Ryan said awkwardly, unsure of how to react. He knew he was a good writer, in the way that he knew he could put words together in a way that seemed to work, but he'd never really thought about it much beyond that. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans and tried not to stare at Spencer's flip-flops.

Ryan had never seen Spencer look so dressed-down and casual, and the effect was kind of overwhelming. Spencer looked ridiculously hot and Ryan could barely concentrate on what Spencer was saying, so much so that he had to look up and say "hmm?" when he didn't catch whatever Spencer had just said.

It was just that Spencer was in jeans and _flip-flops_ , thighs lithe and muscular beneath the denim, and Ryan had always loved feet. He liked toes, liked feet, liked they way they looked. Jon shared Ryan's strange predilection for toes, and sometimes Ryan had sat and watched Jon take picture after picture of his own feet or Brendon's. Ryan's toes were too long to be pretty, but Jon had taken pictures of them nonetheless, ignoring Ryan's protestations that they were ugly. Spencer's were nice, though, and Ryan had to swallow hard before he could look up and concentrate on what Spencer was saying.

"You shouldn't keep these to yourself, Ryan," Spencer was telling him. "They're excellent. I don't know much about poetry but some of these are stunning." He put Ryan's poetry notebook down on the table and Ryan was surprised to note that there were bookmarks marking some of the pages.

"You liked my poems?" Ryan asked, unable to help himself. Some of his poems were really fucking dark, dating back to when he was raging about his dad's cirrhosis diagnosis or when he missed Jon and Brendon so much it hurt. Some of them though, some of the ones he'd been writing more recently, they were lighter and more nonsensical, fairytale love stories between the moon and the sun. They barely made sense to Ryan and it was strange to consider Spencer reading them and liking them.

"Yes, although half of them I want you to explain to me because your brain is a really fucking intense place at times, Ryan."

Ryan carefully schooled his face into blankness. "Oh yeah?" he asked, cautiously. He'd had this conversation before, the _you're too screwed up_ conversation. It always hurt.

"God, yeah, Ryan." Spencer shook his head, "Some of these are just something else." He flicked through the notebook, but he didn't stop at _Camisado_ or _Tacks for Snacks_ , like Ryan was ready for him to do. He kept on going until he came to _Behind the Sea_ , stopping and running his finger down the page. "I love this, but I don't understand a word," he said, and Ryan couldn't quite believe it but Spencer was blushing, cheeks pink. "It's okay, right? That I can like it without knowing what it means?"

Ryan swallowed. "Yeah," he said. "Half the time I barely understand what I mean, so it's okay that you don't either."

Spencer looked over at him, smiling slowly.

Butterflies twisted in Ryan's stomach; he bit at his lip. The way Spencer was looking at him—it was the way you looked at someone pretty special. Ryan couldn't do this, he really couldn't.

"I can't quite believe you read them all," Ryan said, turning away and flicking over the pages in the notebook, anything so he didn't have to look at Spencer and see the way he was looking at him.

"Every word." Spencer said, from somewhere close to Ryan's back.

The hair stood up on the back of Ryan's neck and his fingers shook as he turned the page.

"And these," Spencer went on, all the time standing closer. He pushed the short story and the novel outline across the table towards Ryan. "I want this book on my shelf," he said, softly. Then, touching at Ryan's shoulder, "Shit, Ryan. They're amazing. Why the fuck are you working as a fucking _secretary_?"

Ryan turned around, and concentrated on not giving away how badly it was affecting him, having Spencer this close to him and looking at him like _that_. "I think you mean 'executive assistant'," he said, and tried to smile.

"I'm serious," Spencer said quietly, touching at Ryan's wrist with the tips of his fingers.

Ryan pulled away, and went into the kitchen to start making them both some coffee. Anything so he didn't have to stand so close to Spencer and have him _there_. He busied himself with opening the jar of coffee grounds and trying not to spill it all across his counter as he spooned it in the machine.

"What are you doing?" Spencer asked, a moment later, leaning against the counter by the oven. His flip-flops made soft, sloppy noises on the tiles, and Ryan tried to count out his own heartbeat with his fingers against the wood.

"Making coffee," Ryan said, and just like that, he stopped. He left the jar open and the lid of the coffee machine up and the spoon spilling grains across the counter. He turned round, stuffing his hands in his pockets and staring at the floor. This—he couldn't do it anymore, whatever _this_ was. He couldn't pretend like they were friends and that was all he wanted. He'd tried really hard to get over his feelings for Spencer; had tried to ensure that they didn't affect their working relationship. He'd tried to carry on as normal but he just couldn't anymore. Spencer was- he was _everything_.

Ryan cleared his throat, and wished his voice could be something more than just a monotone. "I need you to-" he started.

He stopped, and toed at the tiles.

"Ryan," Spencer said. "Go on."

"I think that maybe when I told you I was in love with you, I was more in love with the idea of being in love with you than I actually was with _you_."

Spencer swallowed, loudly, and stood up straight. "Ryan-"

"Let me finish," Ryan said, carefully. "All this time I've been trying to get past this because you didn't want—" he stopped. "Because you weren't interested in me like that. But the thing is, I've spent more time with you since I told you, and I think we're friends now. And I know _you_ , and not just who I thought you were but who you actually are, and I'm-" he took a deep breath, "and I'm telling you again. I'm telling you again that I'm in love with you and I need you to tell me now if this is never going to happen, and you need to tell me quickly because you just keep doing this stuff that makes me fall more in love with you and I can't keep doing this, it's not fair and it hurts."

"Ryan, I-" Spencer took a step towards him.

"I'm not kidding," Ryan said, holding his hand up. "You need to tell me, and you need to tell me now."

A myriad of emotions clouded Spencer's face and Ryan just couldn't identify them quick enough. "Spencer," he said, and he hadn't thought he was going to sound that desperate.

"I really like you, Ryan. A lot."

"But," Ryan said tiredly. "This is where you say _but_."

"No 'but'," Spencer said, and he shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "There's no 'but', Ryan. I've been trying to tell you for days, ever since we went to Chicago. I thought you might have gotten it by now. I like you."

"But-" Ryan started, his eyes wide. He stared across at Spencer, recognition dawning.

"There's no 'but', Ryan," Spencer said again, and he covered the few steps distance between them and touched at Ryan's cheek with his palm. "I really like you and I want you to come out on a date with me."

"A date?" Ryan asked, unable to hide his surprise—or indeed, move - as Spencer's thumb touched at his temples, stroked along his cheekbones.

Spencer nodded, eyes on Ryan's mouth.

"I don't get what's changed," Ryan said, stupidly. "I mean, you _didn't_. You didn't want me. You told me that."

Spencer shoulders moved awkwardly. "I- I didn't know you before. I'd never thought of you as anything but someone I worked with. I never-" he kissed the corner of Ryan's mouth, and Ryan nudged Spencer's nose with his own. Their breath was warm. "You caught me by surprise, Ry. I'd never considered-" he kissed the other corner of Ryan's mouth. "You said you were going to quit, and I don't know. I was scared, I guess. I didn't want you not to be around anymore. All that day I'd been worried you were going to quit."

"So-" Ryan asked, opening his mouth and nudging at Spencer's; a breath of a kiss and nothing more.

"So. I started noticing you more. And more. You're really— _really_ —amazing, Ryan. You have these friends who worship the fucking ground you walk on, and you write like a, like an angel or something, and you're funny and really fucking pretty-"

"Hey," Ryan interrupted, pulling back. "Pretty?" He didn't know whether to be offended or touched. He didn't much care though, because Spencer was grinning and reaching for him and Ryan's heart was beating fast and he was smiling so hard he thought his face might crack. He couldn't help but slide his hand around Spencer's wrist, feeling Spencer's pulse beat below his own.

Spencer laughed against Ryan's mouth. "Pretty, Ryan Ross, really cute. And you tell me that I should read more and listen to all this new music and you're never satisfied with me."

"I didn't mean to sound like that," Ryan said, his cheeks flushing.

Spencer touched at Ryan's chin. "No, that's _good_ , Ryan. No one expects more of me anymore. You do, though."

Ryan shrugged uncomfortably. "You like me because I tell you your taste in books is really crappy?" He wasn't sure he was getting this, and he also wasn't sure that he cared, if it meant Spencer looked at him like that.

Spencer rolled his eyes. "I like you because you don't tell me my taste in books is amazing just because you want to sleep with me."

Ryan tried not to blush. "Um," he said, grinning.

"So," Spencer said, nudging at Ryan's mouth with his own. "Will you let me take you out on a date?"

Ryan shook his head decidedly, and smoothed Spencer's hair back from his forehead.

"No?" Spencer asked. He sounded unsure, and Ryan couldn't help but smile.

"I'm thinking we could go and grab some food and see a movie," Ryan said softly. "That'd be pretty amazing. But-" he stopped, kissing the corner of Spencer's mouth. "You don't have take me out, Spencer. I don't really care how much money you have. I like _you_ , not your bank balance."

"Okay," Spencer let out a breath, leaned in and kissed him. Ryan sighed into it, his mouth opening beneath Spencer's. They kissed lazily, languidly, Ryan pressing himself closer to Spencer and Spencer's hands on his hips. Spencer tasted like coffee and—faintly—like strawberry laces. They'd always been Spencer's favorite candy back when they were kids.

"So what's the deal?" Spencer asked later, sliding his hands into Ryan's back pockets and tugging him closer, his words half muffled against Ryan's hair. "I get to take—no, sorry, we get to go out on a date so long as we both pay half?"

Ryan nodded. "That's right," he said, smiling. Spencer's lips were pink and wet and Ryan couldn't be this close and not kiss him again, he just couldn't.

This kiss was heavier, darker with intent, Ryan's fingers tangling in Spencer's hair, catching in the collar of his t-shirt. Spencer was tugging Ryan closer, sliding his tongue along Ryan's, his hands in the curve of Ryan's back, stroking at his skin through the cotton. Ryan gasped as Spencer pulled away.

Spencer's cheeks were flushed. "We need to stop this," he said, with a grimace. He didn't let go of Ryan.

"Um- for good, or just for tonight?" Ryan managed. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

Spencer looked appalled, hands sliding down to cup Ryan's ass. "Just for tonight, dumbass."

"Do you sweet-talk all your boyfriends like that?" Ryan asked, pulling at the hem of Spencer's t-shirt.

Spencer rolled his eyes, grinning. "I am not sleeping with you tonight," he said, but he didn't protest too much when Ryan tugged him even closer by his belt loops, nudging at his mouth with his own.

"Oh yeah?" Ryan said, softly. He kissed him again.

"Really, no." Spencer said, mouth touching Ryan's cheek. "I might put out on the first date but not until then."

"Is that like a," Ryan kissed him again, fingers pulling at Spencer's shirt, "hard and fast rule?"

"Ryan," Spencer grinned, pressing his hips up against Ryan's. "Are you always this easy?"

Ryan nodded. "Pretty much."

Spencer laughed. "It's not happening, Ryan. We're having dinner first. Dinner and some crappy movie. And popcorn."

"Okay," Ryan said. "Popcorn seals the deal. When?"

Spencer thought for a moment. "Wednesday?"

"Sure," Ryan nodded, not protesting when Spencer leaned in to kiss him again. Spencer licked his way into Ryan's mouth, Ryan kissing him back, tongue sliding against Spencer's.

"I'm going," Spencer said, pulling away.

Ryan raised an eyebrow and Spencer rolled his eyes, leaning in again for another kiss.

"I'm really going," Spencer told him after a minute, grimly. "I've got books about people dying and being miserable to read."

Ryan couldn't help but laugh.

"I'll see you in the morning," Spencer said, kissing Ryan's cheek.

When the door shut, Ryan leaned back against the counter and bit his lip, smiling. He touched at his mouth. Holy crap.

 

Wednesday was taking its time coming around; Ryan had gotten to the stage where he was fairly sure the universe was holding it from him deliberately. When he pointed this out to Spencer on Tuesday morning, Spencer just laughed and told Ryan to keep his lunch time free.

"Okay," Ryan said. "What have you got planned?"

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Wait and see."

They were leaning on the edge of Ryan's desk, watching the coffee machine slowly filter through a pot full of strong, dark, rich coffee, neither of them saying very much. It was far too early; Spencer had a breakfast meeting with the VP and Ryan had dragged himself out of bed and down to the office under the pretext of being snowed under with things to do, but Spencer kept shooting sidelong glances at Ryan's virtually empty in-trays and smiling to himself.

"What?" Ryan asked, after a minute, the only sound the hiss of the coffee machine.

"Nothing," Spencer elbowed him. "I just think it's kind of cute that you've gotten up so early just to have coffee with me."

"You should stop giving me so much work to do," Ryan told him, folding his arms and not looking at Spencer, "then I wouldn't have to come in so early."

"Uh-huh," Spencer nodded. "Sure."

"You're going to be late," Ryan said, pointedly.

 

Spencer came back to the office at lunchtime bearing a bag full of food. "We're having lunch," he said, kicking open the door to his office.

"We are?" Ryan asked, unable to hide his smile. "Is this like an impromptu date?"

"Not a date. More like... lunch between two colleagues who happen to like each other quite a lot." Spencer swept a pile of paperwork off the large table in the corner of the room and onto the floor.

Ryan balked. "I hope you're going to pick those up and put them back in order." They'd been alphabetized and Ryan hated filing pretty much more than any other aspect of his stupid job. "Also, how is that different from a date?"

Spencer rolled his eyes and went back to emptying the bag, unpacking cartons onto the table top. "I'm pleased my romantic gesture went down so well. And it's different from a date because dates come with the possibility of one of us—or both of us—putting out. The only thing that's going to happen as a result of this is that we eat too much."

"I imagine your gesture would have probably gone down better if it didn't increase my workload," Ryan pointed out, stepping over the pile of scattered papers and pulling out a chair. "And just so I know, there's definitely not going to be any putting out after this?"

"None whatsoever," Spencer said. He had called out for delivery and they shared tubs of couscous and bean salads and falafel, passing them across the table until Spencer sat back lazily in his chair, rubbing his stomach.

"I should not have eaten so much," he said. "I'm going to be sleepy all afternoon."

"This stuff is amazing," Ryan told him. He looked at the side of the carton, trying to find a name. "What restaurant is this from?"

"One of my favorite ones," Spencer said, with a lazy smile. "I'll have to take you there-"

Ryan raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay, we'll have to go there together one time. Better?"

"Much," Ryan said. He dropped the empty carton of falafel down on to the tabletop, standing up and taking Spencer's hand. "Now are you going to stand up and kiss me, or what?"

Spencer laughed. "Sounds like a plan."

 

They were late back from lunch.

 

Ryan was distinctly flustered.

"Calm down," Jon said, laughing down the phone.

"I _am_ calm," Ryan protested, from somewhere under a pile of shirts on the bed. "I just have nothing to wear."

"It doesn't much matter what you wear," Brendon pointed out, "I saw the way he looked at you. Spencer's not going to care if you turn up wearing those sacks you call work clothes."

"So not the point, Brendon," Ryan said, head in his closet. Everything had seemed so straightforward earlier, when all he'd had to think about was negotiating a meeting with the VP's personal secretary, a harridan of an executive assistant who controlled the VP's office with a rod of iron. He'd managed to get out of the office at lunchtime and had been able to pick up a gift for Spencer, but he'd spent so long wrapping it up once he'd finally gotten back to his apartment that he'd left himself precisely no time at all to get ready. "Where the _fuck_ is my black shirt?"

"Hey," Brendon said brightly, voice tinny down the phone line, "Do you still have that rose vest you used to wear in college? I'm sure Spencer would like that-"

"I'm hanging up," Ryan said, "You're not helping."

"I always liked the rose vest," Jon mused. "It was bright, like a fire engine."

"I hate you both." Ryan upended his drawers onto the floor.

"Look," Jon said, "Keep it simple, Ry. You bought a new white button down, yes?"

"Yes," Ryan nodded, standing up in the middle of what used to be his bedroom and that now resembled a tornado of clothing. He'd sent photos of all his new clothes to Jon and Brendon, mostly because Brendon kept sending him whiny text messages pestering him. He took a deep breath.

"Put that on," Jon said. "Smart but simple."

"Yeah," Brendon said. "And that tie, the really thin black one. That's a hot tie, you could totally tie someone up with-"

From the other end of the phone came the distinct sound of a scuffle.

"Nothing!" Brendon yelped, a moment later. "I said nothing and meant nothing!"

Ryan laughed. "Okay guys, I'm wearing that. And jeans. But I'm really hanging up now."

"Have fun now," Jon told him.

"Our boy's all grown up," Brendon said, with a sniffle. "And call us later after you've slept with him, tell us whether-"

Ryan hung up.

 

Ryan was ready with a minute or so to spare; he smudged his eyeliner with his thumb and smoothed his hair behind his ear, staring at himself in the mirror and trying to compose himself.

There was a knock at his door.

Ryan swallowed hard, smoothed imaginary creases away from his sleeves and answered it.

Spencer had brought him flowers.

Ryan started to laugh, and Spencer rolled his eyes.

"This is the last time I'm doing something romantic for you," Spencer told him, stepping inside and pushing the door shut behind him. He curled his hand around Ryan's hip.

"No, you don't get it," Ryan said, trying not to laugh anymore. "I think they're amazing. It's just-" he shrugged his shoulders, leaning in to take the bunch of yellow roses from Spencer, "No-one's ever bought me flowers before." He didn't even have a vase. They were kind of beautiful.

"Oh, well," Spencer said, leaning in and pressing his mouth to Ryan's. "I like flowers, and I like you, so."

Ryan had already hidden his gift for Spencer in the inside pocket of his jacket, so he just checked his pockets for his keys and his wallet and left the flowers resting in a glass of cold water by the sink before following Spencer out into the hallway.

It was kind of weird, being out on a date with Spencer Smith. They walked down to the elevator bumping elbows, shooting each other sidelong glances and grinning to themselves. Ryan thought that they were probably doing a pretty good impression of high schoolers and if he wasn't having such a good time then he was quite sure he'd be embarrassed by himself.

A driver picked them up outside the door to their apartment building; Ryan recognized him from the countless times he'd arranged cars for Spencer over the past couple of years, but he merely nodded politely in their direction as they climbed into the back seat, Ryan sliding over so that there was plenty of room for Spencer to sit down next to him.

Spencer—who Ryan was beginning to realize was finding their date just as ridiculously high school as he was—slid right across until his thigh was pressed up against Ryan's.

"That seat too good for you or something?" Ryan asked. "You had to come over and share mine?"

Spencer laughed, and put his hand on Ryan's knee. "Shut up and let me hold your hand, Ross."

Ryan did.

 

They were eating at the bar and grill near the movie theater; Ryan had called and booked them a table. The place was full of families on their way to the bowling alley or the movies; there weren't that many couples and the only tables for two were right up at the back, by the kitchens.

"This is nice," Spencer said, when he sat down. His elbows bumped the salt shaker on one side and the menu on the other.

"Shut up," Ryan said, opening his menu and deliberately not looking at Spencer.

"No, really," Spencer ran his finger down the main courses. "There's a good selection of, um, burgers."

"You are going the right way not to get laid tonight, Spencer Smith," Ryan told him, raising an eyebrow. Ryan wasn't exactly sure when it was that he'd turned into this guy who was apparently confident and flirtatious, but obviously all those lessons Jon and Brendon had relentlessly gone through with him appeared to have worked, because Spencer was staring at him and blushing.

"Ryan Ross," Spencer managed, after a moment. "You are a monster. Frankenstein, in fact. Oh God, I'm on a date with a monster."

Ryan busied himself with the drinks menu. "Frankenstein _wasn't_ the monster," he told Spencer. "He was the creator. That's a common misconception."

Spencer barked a laugh, and touched at Ryan's ankle with his foot. "I think I'm going to like learning from you, Ryan," he said softly, leaning over the table.

Ryan caught Spencer's eye and grinned.

 

They both ordered burgers, Spencer's with blue cheese and bacon and extra fries. Ryan went for the chicken burger, and when it arrived, proceeded to completely unpack his burger into its composite pieces, slather each bit in mayonnaise and put it all back together again.

Spencer was staring at him in horror. "Did you just-"

Ryan nodded. "I like mayonnaise." He really did. Plus, he only ever very rarely allowed himself burgers, so when he did he figured going overboard was part of its appeal.

"Yeah," Spencer said, eyes wide. "I can see. Can one person _eat_ that amount of mayonnaise?"

"I'm going to give it my very best shot," Ryan said, as mayonnaise oozed out of the side of the burger bun.

"I'm not sure I can watch," Spencer told him, with a fascinated look on his face. "That's pretty disgusting, Ross."

"I try my best," Ryan said, and took a bite.

 

"Did you always want to come back to Vegas?" Ryan asked, once he'd polished off his burger. He stole a handful of fries from Spencer's plate, dipping them in the remains of his mayonnaise. "After your MBA, I mean."

Spencer shrugged. "Not particularly. I didn't much know what I wanted to do, so I came home. The resort was offering some pretty spectacular money, and the apartment, so."

Ryan narrowed his eyes. "But you enjoy your job, right?"

Spencer shrugged again. "Sure," he said, picking at his fries.

"It doesn't sound much like it to me," Ryan said, softly.

"It's okay." Spencer smiled. "Keeps me busy."

"But-" Ryan started. He wanted to say _you're rich, you can do whatever you want_. He didn't know how to say it, though, so he concentrated on his empty plate.

"I just haven't figured out an alternative yet," Spencer told him. "Sometimes I just think I didn't grow up wanting to work on the Strip."

Ryan looked up from his plate. "Do you think we would have been friends earlier if we'd known we were both bored by our jobs?"

"They're good jobs, Ry," Spencer told him. "Good jobs with good benefits and we could both do a lot worse."

Ryan remembered the paper manufacturing job he'd worked before meeting Spencer. He'd hated every moment and he hadn't gotten along with any of the other employees in the finance office—who were mostly women in their forties. He'd hated it and resented his dad's illness and he called Jon every day and pretended like everything was okay. Working for Spencer had been like a huge weight had been lifted off his mind—he could look after his father and still afford to eat. "Yeah," he said, "I know."

 

They almost missed the beginning of the movie, because they'd shared a slice of pie ("don't think much to the pie crust," Spencer said, after the first bite) and spent too long drinking coffee and talking about _Lord of the Rings_. Ryan was recounting—in lurid and minute detail—the course of Jon's true love of Orlando Bloom. Spencer was laughing at the idea of Jon with a six foot cut out of an elf in the corner of his bedroom, when they looked at the clock and realized they were supposed to be across the parking lot, lining up for popcorn.

They held hands in the line for tickets, Spencer grinning and complaining about Ryan's choice of movie.

"This isn't going to have a happy ending, is it?" he asked. "People are going to die horribly and alone, aren't they?"

Ryan bit his lip. "They don't _all_ die."

"Oh, great." Spencer said. "I bet those that survive do so maimed, though, don't they? One legged miserable people, roaming the earth forever alone, surviving the apocalypse but at the cost of everything they loved-"

"It's an exploration of the desperation and depravity of the human condition-" Ryan started. He'd also been looking forward to seeing it ever since he'd heard the movie was in production.

Spencer shook his head. "It's a miserable movie about miserable people and only the fact that I like you a whole lot means I'm willing to sit through it when we're on a _date_ , Ryan."

"We could go see something else," Ryan offered, hesitating. They were almost at the counter. He scanned the screens overhead, wondering if there was something else they could see instead.

Spencer rolled his eyes. "We could, but you want to see this one, and I want to see you be happy, so. We're seeing this."

Ryan blushed, and Spencer—without even looking around to see who might be looking—leaned in and kissed his cheek.

 

Surprisingly enough, not many people had opted to go see Ryan's movie, and the theater was virtually empty. Spencer and Ryan sat right in the back corner, surrounded by a huge tub of popcorn and two large drinks.

They made out for most of the movie, leaning over the armrest with Spencer's fingers in Ryan's hair, Ryan touching Spencer's neck. They kissed lazily, Ryan always aware that there were other people around, that they weren't by themselves back at Spencer's apartment.

"Haven't made out at the movie theater in _years_ ," Spencer whispered, after a while.

Ryan grinned, taking a moment to catch his breath. His mouth felt swollen and bruised. It was strange, making out in the dark, the loud surround sound blasting around them as the world disintegrated on the big screen in front of them. He really had no idea what was going on up on the screen and he didn't much care; he'd just have to catch the movie when it came out on DVD. He couldn't think of anything other than Spencer kissing him, running his palm up Ryan's arm, curving into his neck, cupping his chin. He bit his lip, smoothing Spencer's hair behind his ear.

Ryan leaned back in his seat, touching his fingers to Spencer's cheek.

"What?" Spencer murmured.

"I never told you how hot you're looking tonight," Ryan said softly. Even though Ryan could barely make out Spencer in the dark, he'd been unable to stop staring at him all evening. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, under a gray sweater-vest. It was casual, yet completely one of Spencer's best looks. "But you do."

"What, this old thing?" Spencer laughed softly, thumb to Ryan's cheek. "And talking of looking good," he whispered, leaning in and mouthing at the pale skin beneath Ryan's ear so that Ryan shivered, "you're looking pretty damn good yourself, Ross."

Ryan ran his fingers through Spencer's hair. "Oh yeah?" he said, head tipping back as Spencer continued to kiss at his neck. He was seconds away from groaning right out loud.

"Yeah," Spencer murmured. "Look, we're not watching this. Do you want to get out of here?"

Ryan swallowed. "Sure," he said, and he grabbed his jacket from the seat beside him. "Come on."

 

They made out in the back of the car on the way back to the hotel. Ryan was naturally more cautious than Spencer, but Spencer just closed the privacy window and carded his fingers through Ryan's hair. "I had a really nice time tonight," he told Ryan, seriously.

Ryan nodded. "Me too."

"I think you're incredible, Ryan." Spencer went on.

Ryan bit at his lip. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Spencer nodded, leaning in and touching at Ryan's mouth with his own. "I want to do this again. And again."

"I bought you something," Ryan said, pulling away from Spencer's kiss. He thought of the people Spencer normally dated, the showgirls and the playboys, the kind of relationships they must have had. Ryan couldn't even pretend to be like them; he wondered if Spencer was going to get bored of him and miss what he used to have. He sat back in his seat, trying to school his face into something resembling calmness.

"Okay," Spencer said, frowning. He sat back.

"It's not very much," Ryan said, awkwardly. Maybe it had been a really stupid idea to buy Spencer a gift. He must be used to really nice presents.

"You didn't have to get me anything," Spencer told him. He shook his head. "You really didn't."

Ryan pulled a thin box out of his pocket, carefully wrapped in hand printed gift wrap. It was tied together with a dark red ribbon. Spencer was still watching him carefully, and Ryan tried not to meet his eyes. "I know," he said. "I wanted to, okay?"

"I kept meaning to ask," Spencer said quietly, holding the package in his hand and running his thumb carefully over the paper. "Where do you get things wrapped? Everyone always says how great their gifts look, and I never know where to say-"

"I do it myself," Ryan interrupted, ducking his head. "Open it."

Spencer touched at Ryan's hair. "You do it?" he asked. "How come just when I think I've got you figured out, you just surprise me all over again?"

"It's just gift wrap," Ryan said, shrugging a shoulder. He wondered where the cool, flirtatious Ryan of earlier in the evening had disappeared to; he felt awkward and unsure of himself, tense and nervous in Spencer's company.

"It's never _just_ anything," Spencer told him. "You have all these amazing hidden talents, Ryan."

"Yeah, I can gift wrap like a demon. I'll put it on my resume." Ryan shrugged. "You should open that."

"Hey," Spencer said, cupping Ryan's chin. "What's gotten into you?"

"This is really dumb," Ryan said. "I should never have-" he stopped, folding his arms and shrugging again.

"Never have what, Ryan?" Spencer asked. "I thought we were having a good time."

"We were," Ryan said, trying to school the desperation out of his voice. "It's just-" he swallowed, sighing. "I'm your _secretary_ , Spencer. I'm just your assistant. This isn't going to work."

"Hey," Spencer said again, fiercely, grabbing Ryan's arm. "You're not _just_ anything. I think you're incredible and I really like you. I think I could fall in love with you, Ryan. I think a whole lot of you, and it's not because you're _just_ anything." He loosened his grip. "I really want this to work."

"Okay," Ryan said, after a moment. He swallowed, turning to look out of the window. His fingers were shaking. "You should open your gift."

Ryan had bought Spencer a pen. He'd thought for a while now that Spencer needed one; he held an important position at the Pas de Cheval resort and was well-respected by all the people he worked with. It wasn't right that Spencer uncap a cheap ball-point pen in the middle of meetings, he needed something that matched his well-cut suits and the soft Italian leather of his briefcase. Ryan couldn't afford to buy Spencer the very best, but he knew of a little store that worked out of downtown Las Vegas. They sold paper and leather-bound notebooks and Ryan had bought more than his fair share there over the past few years. Ryan had budgeted and gone down at lunchtime to pick out the best he could get for his money.

The result was a dark bottle-green pen with a silver clasp. He'd thought about buying Spencer a fountain pen, but Spencer wasn't Ryan and he'd probably prefer a ball-point. It wrote well; Ryan had tested it out before he'd wrapped it.

"Ryan," Spencer said, once he'd carefully peeled back the gift wrap and set it to one side. "This is beautiful. Thank you." He balanced the pen between his thumb and finger, slowly uncapping it and weighing it in his palm.

"You've got to stop stealing pens from the stationery cupboard," Ryan told him, looking out the window at the bright lights of the city. "You're a top executive, Spencer, you should at least have the right kind of pen-"

Spencer leaned in and touched Ryan's cheek. "I'm falling in love with you," he said softly. "And I really want to kiss you again."

Ryan nodded jerkily. "Right," he said. Spencer was cupping his cheek, thumb stroking at his lip. Ryan couldn't help but lean in and press his mouth to Spencer's, mouth opening beneath the insistent pressure of Spencer's tongue. He shifted in his seat, knee bumping into Spencer's.

They made out for the rest of the journey back to the hotel, only pulling apart, pink-faced and breathless, after a discreet cough from the driver.

"Come back to my apartment," Spencer said, breathlessly, nudging at Ryan's nose with his own. He stroked at Ryan's hair with his palm. "Please."

"Okay," Ryan said, nodding tightly. "Yeah."

 

Ryan expected Spencer to distance himself from Ryan once they were back at the resort, pretend that he was just out for the evening with a friend. Spencer didn't though, not at all, climbing out of the car first and offering his hand to Ryan to help him out. Ryan had to stop himself from rolling his eyes, contenting himself with biting his lip, but Spencer just laughed and refused to let go of his hand.

In the elevator, Spencer's fingers stroked at the nape of his neck and Ryan couldn't help but slide his hand into Spencer's back pocket, ducking his gaze so that Spencer didn't see him flush.

"I really like the gift," Spencer told him, tugging him closer. "It was a really nice idea."

"I thought you might think it was stupid," Ryan admitted. He still had his hand in Spencer's pocket, thumb stroking against the waistband of his pants. He wanted to press himself up against Spencer, flush against him, wanted to take his sweater-vest off and undo his buttons, inch after careful inch of pale skin slowly revealing itself.

Spencer shook his head. "I don't think it's stupid. I think it's pretty amazing. Sort of like you."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Are you sweet-talking me, Mr. Smith?"

"I'm just trying to get you into bed with me, Mr. Ross." Spencer grinned. "How am I doing?"

Ryan shrugged, unable to hide the smile playing on his lips. "Pretty well," he said, slowly. "I'm thinking I might put out."

Spencer's eyes darkened, but he smiled and slid his hand down into the nape of Ryan's back. "Really? I'm kind of glad to hear that."

Ryan didn't take his hand out of Spencer's pocket the whole way down the hallway, While Spencer was fiddling with his keys, Ryan kissed at his temple, breathing soft and warm against Spencer's ear. He felt Spencer shiver.

Inside, Spencer kicked the door shut and put Ryan's pen down on the table. "God, Ryan," he said, voice hitching, and then he leaned in and kissed him.

Ryan was ready and he met him half way, already tugging at Spencer's jacket, helping him shrug it off his shoulders and down over his elbows as they kissed. Ryan was toeing off his shoes as they stumbled across the room, Spencer kicking his off and pulling at the collar of Ryan's jacket. Kisses were hard and open mouthed and messy as they tugged at each other's clothing, breaking apart as Spencer pulled his sweater vest over his head.

The bedroom was just off the lounge and Spencer tugged him backwards until Spencer bumped into the bed, Ryan falling on top of him with an _oomph_.

"Pants," Ryan said, with a breathless laugh. He rolled off Spencer onto his back, pulling open his fly and kicking off his pants, Spencer doing the same next to him. His socks followed and there was just his underwear; he took a breath and shucked his briefs down over his cock and down onto the floor. Next to him, Spencer was pulling off his socks.

 _Fuck_ , Ryan thought, taking a breath, his eyes raking over Spencer naked. Spencer worked out in the executive gym every morning and it _showed_. He was even more attractive without clothes than he was with. "Spencer," he managed, but then Spencer was grinning at him, all messy hair and pink cheeks. "Just, look at you."

"I'd rather look at you," Spencer said, his voice dark.

Ryan laughed and straddled Spencer, kissing at the corner of his mouth, hands tangling in his hair. The first touch of Spencer's cock against his was electric, his skin prickling. He gasped against Spencer's mouth, kissing him harder.

Spencer was arching up against him, groaning into Ryan's mouth. "Ryan," he managed, one hand in the small of Ryan's back, pulling him closer, the other behind him on the bed, keeping his balance.

Ryan's hips rocked against Spencer's cock, each touch causing his skin to burn with anticipation.

"Can I-" Spencer said, breaking off for a kiss, then another, "fuck, Ryan," he kissed Ryan again. "I want to fuck you," he said. "Here, like this."

Ryan groaned, thrusting his cock against Spencer's taut belly, his head thrown back. "Yeah," he gasped, as Spencer mouthed at Ryan's neck. "But it's been a while-"

"-Doesn't matter," Spencer said, leaning over to the nightstand. There were condoms and lube waiting on top.

"Bit premature," Ryan grinned, kissing at Spencer's jaw as Spencer fumbled with the lube, slathering his fingers.

"Thought you were a sure thing," Spencer laughed, hips arching as he tugged Ryan even closer, their cocks pushed together between their chests. He stroked at the cleft of Ryan's ass with slippery fingers. "Okay, so maybe I was just hopeful."

Ryan hissed in a breath and groaned as Spencer's fingers stroked downwards, touching at his hole.

"God, Ryan," Spencer managed, the tip of his finger sliding inside. "Just, _fuck_."

Ryan stilled, hands in Spencer's hair as Spencer slowly pushed inside, just the tip, not more than the first joint.

"Okay?"

Ryan swallowed. "Yeah," he said, and Spencer started to move, sliding his finger in and out. It felt kind of weird but Ryan moved with him, tilting forward in time with Spencer's finger, waiting for the strangeness to shift into something more recognizable.

"Fuck, you're so tight," Spencer told him, sweat sheening across his forehead.

Ryan could feel Spencer's erection pressed up against his stomach; his own erection wasn't quite as hard as it had been but he pushed down onto Spencer's finger. "More," he said, after a while. "Another finger, Spence-"

Spencer slid two fingers in, then three, then they were both rocking up against each other, Spencer's fingers twisting in Ryan's ass, Ryan hard and the head of his cock pushed up against Spencer's belly button. His head fell back. "Fuck, Spencer," he managed. Sweat shone across his shoulders.

"You're amazing," Spencer told him, "Just, so good, Ry. I want to fuck you," he went on, groaning as Ryan kissed him, leaning in and pushing him down onto the bed, the angle shifting as Ryan knelt over him, Spencer's fingers still inside of him.

"How about I ride you instead?" Ryan offered, mouthing at Spencer's jaw.

Spencer's fingers curled inside of him, sliding in and out, crooked to one side. Ryan's hips bucked, outside of his control.

"Yeah," Spencer groaned. "Yeah."

Ryan kissed him. "Good," he said, hand sliding behind him to where Spencer was still fingering him.

Spencer was tearing the corner off the condom wrapper with his teeth, Ryan shifting up onto his knees so that Spencer could get to his cock. Ryan helped, one hand curling into Spencer's behind him, the other rolling the condom down Spencer's erection as Spencer kept a hold of the tip.

"Oh, Ryan," Spencer gasped, as Ryan's fist curved around Spencer's erection, Spencer squeezing lube into Ryan's palm, watching as he fisted his cock loosely. "Yeah-"

Ryan shifted so he could slide down onto Spencer's cock, Spencer helping to position him. He groaned past the first ring of muscle, the push and the burn.

Spencer moved with him, hips arching up off the bed as Ryan moved, his fingertips pressing into Ryan's hips.

"Ryan-" Spencer's voice echoed Ryan's groan, a low keen as they shifted, Ryan pushing down onto Spencer's erection. "So tight-" he told Ryan, hands fixing Ryan in place. "You feel incredible."

Ryan whined, unable to help himself, and he grabbed his cock, jacking himself off to an uneasy rhythm.

"Let me," Spencer said, his breathing hitched and desperate. "Let me."

Ryan couldn't bear to relinquish his hold on his cock but he made room for Spencer, their fingers entwining messily as they both jerked him off, Ryan gasping for breath.

"Spencer," Ryan managed later, his thigh muscles burning as he moved. "Oh _god_ -"

"You're so fucking hot," Spencer told him, his breathing rushed, and Ryan's head fell back. "Ryan, please-"

"I want you to come," Ryan ground out, "Spencer, I want you to come inside of me, please-"

Spencer's rhythm on Ryan's cock slackened, leaving Ryan to keep up the pace. Spencer was breathing heavily, sweat glistening across his chest, his head tipped back so that Ryan was staring at the taut, sleek line of his neck, the jut of his jaw. He wanted to touch, to lick, to bite. He could feel the familiar tightening in the base of his stomach, his breath catching in his throat.

"I'm close," Ryan said. "Fuck, Spencer-"

Spencer bucked beneath him and came, groaning out Ryan's name.

Ryan caught the rhythm of his aftershocks in the stuttered rhythm of Spencer's hand on his cock, Spencer shuddering into stillness beneath him.

"Come on," Spencer managed, a moment later, meeting Ryan's eye. His skin was flushed and he licked his lips. "Ryan, come on, so hot like this-"

Ryan fisted his cock, gasping for breath as he jerked himself off. He came with a cry, head falling back, eyes closed. Spencer jacked him slowly through the comedown.

Ryan slid up and off Spencer's cock, moving slowly from kneeling over Spencer to lying beside him. Ryan closed his eyes and heard rather than saw Spencer take the condom off and throw it in the trash. Next to him, Spencer's breathing slowed.

"Come on, Ryan," Spencer murmured a while later. Ryan wasn't sure how much time had passed, but Spencer was trying to move him under the covers.

"Don't want to," Ryan mumbled, without opening his eyes.

Spencer kissed him, and Ryan couldn't help but kiss back, sleepily arching up.

"Move," Spencer said, and Ryan didn't open his eyes but he thought he could hear Spencer smiling.

He was asleep even as Spencer pulled the covers up.

 

Ryan wasn't sure what woke him. It must have been early; it was still dark out and Spencer was fast asleep beside him, hair fanned out across the pillow, arm across Ryan's chest. Ryan smiled to himself and tried not to wake him as he crept out of bed to go to the bathroom.

He didn't much like wandering around Spencer's apartment stark naked, so he helped himself to the robe hanging on the back of the door.

He stopped into the kitchen on the way back from the bathroom, opening cupboard doors trying to find a glass so he could get himself some water. Ryan yawned, and pulled out one of the stools at the breakfast bar, hopping up. He felt sore—it had been a while since he'd had anyone fuck him—but the ache was kind of satisfying, an uncomfortable but welcome reminder he'd had Spencer's cock in his ass earlier on.

There was a pile of papers on the bar; Ryan shifted them to one side to make room. He sort of thought he recognized some of them, and he found himself turning over the first couple of pages, unsure of quite what he was seeing.

 

"Couldn't you sleep?" Spencer asked, yawning as he came into the kitchen. He was naked, his skin sleek and golden. He came over and kissed Ryan on the mouth, one hand on Ryan's shoulder as he leaned over and helped himself to the rest of Ryan's glass of water.

Ryan hadn't been sat out in the kitchen very long, only a few minutes. "What?" His fingers shook. Then, "No."

"Do you want something to eat?" Spencer asked, opening the refrigerator. "I've got, um, well. I could make you a sandwich?"

"What the fuck is this?" Ryan said, his voice tight. He swallowed, sliding off the stool and waving the pile of papers at Spencer.

Spencer straightened up, and let the fridge door shut. "I was going to tell you," he said. "It was going to be a surprise."

Ryan tugged his robe shut. "This is my writing," Ryan said, waving the photocopies of his poetry and his short story. Copies of forms completed in Spencer's handwriting. "What the fuck did you think-"

"There's a bursary," Spencer interrupted him. "The resort has this bursary; every two years they'll offer financial aid to an employee or an employee's family member to go to college. It's, I don't know, probably tax deductible or something. You probably know better than I do. But Ryan, you could go and do creative writing, like you wanted. There's no strings attached. They've got too much money, they're just throwing it away, it's the equivalent of a scholarship."

Ryan's skin burnt. "You applied on my behalf," Ryan's voice shook. "You took my writing without asking and you went behind my back? So they could _throw their money away_ on me?"

"Ryan-" Spencer stepped forward, but Ryan backed away, holding up the papers as a sort of shield.

"Stay the fuck away from me," Ryan told him. He didn't want Spencer anywhere near him; he couldn't quite believe that Spencer would have betrayed his trust like this.

"I didn't think you'd be annoyed," Spencer said, weakly. "I didn't think you'd mind."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "You didn't think I'd be annoyed by you stealing my work—yeah, taking without permission, it's _stealing_ , Spencer—and making me a fucking _charity case_? Jesus, what the fuck was I thinking?" he looked around wildly, trying to find his clothes. "I can't be here anymore," he said, dropping the papers back onto the counter.

He stumbled around Spencer's apartment, trying to find his pants and his shirt. He didn't bother trying to find his underwear, just pulling up his pants and doing up the fly as he tugged on his shirt, trying to do up the buttons.

"Ryan," Spencer said, desperately, pulling on his jeans. "I didn't mean-"

"Where are my shoes?" Ryan asked, pushing past Spencer and back out into the lounge. "You handed my writing out without even _asking_ , Spencer. No one sees that stuff apart from me."

"Well, maybe they _should_ ," Spencer told him, pulling on a t-shirt and following him out. "Jesus, Ryan, you're so fucking talented and you're doing _what_ with your life exactly? My filing. You're _better_ than that."

Ryan shook his head, picking up his shoes and his jacket. He was barefoot, and only half of the buttons on his shirt were done up. "So _now_ I'm only a secretary? It was good enough for you last night, but only because I was a fucking charity case?" He bit his lip; he could still feel the ache from earlier on, and he hated the reminder. "Don't expect me in today, I'm taking a sick day. Hopefully you'll get through the day without someone to do your filing."

"Ryan, please. I'm sorry." Spencer stood in front of his front door, blocking Ryan's exit. "I didn't mean to upset you, I'm really sorry."

"Get out of my way," Ryan said, fiercely. He could feel the burn behind his eyes; his head hurt. "I mean it, Spencer. Move."

Spencer stared at him for a long minute. He looked wretched.

"Move," Ryan said again.

Spencer stood to one side. "Ryan," he said again.

"I don't care," Ryan said. "I really don't care."

 

Ryan was so angry he could punch something. He stormed around his apartment, kicking at the back of his couch and slamming the door into his bedroom. He couldn't believe that Spencer could have gone behind his back like this; he'd trusted Spencer with his writing and Spencer had betrayed that trust. Ryan barely let anyone see his writing. He could count on the fingers of one hand the people who had seen more than a single piece of his writing: Jon, his dad, Brendon, and Spencer. And now some stranger, and Ryan hadn't had the opportunity to even type any of it up or pick out the bad parts, the private parts, the parts he'd been wary of even letting Spencer see, let alone someone else.

Ryan had always been intensely private about his writing, ever since he'd been a child. He remembered telling Spencer's mom his stories sometimes, holding out his notebook so that she could read about the wizards he always wrote about when he still living in Las Vegas. She'd always liked them, he remembered, but it hadn't been the same once he'd moved to Chicago. His mom had been busy, and once his half brothers and sisters had come along, there really hadn't been the time for any of his family to read his work. Writing had become something he did in private, something to escape the rest of his life.

Jon didn't find out he wrote until they were fourteen, and he found a notebook in Ryan's schoolbag. Ryan had explained because he'd had to, explained that he wrote these stupid stories and these half-assed poems that could maybe be songs if he knew how to write music. Jon hadn't laughed, he'd asked to read some, and Ryan had refused.

It had taken a year for Ryan to relent, and even then he'd carefully monitored what Jon could see.

Brendon had found out because Ryan had virtually lived with him while they were in college; he'd read the poems mainly, sometimes humming a rhythm underneath the words that Ryan thought only existed inside of his head.

He'd shown his dad because he wanted to share something of his childhood with him, some of the parts that his dad hadn't been allowed to share the first time around.

And Spencer- he'd shared with Spencer because he'd wanted to.

 

Ryan took a deep breath and told himself it was too early to call Jon. He took a shower instead.

He stood under the spray and turned the shower up until it was almost too hot to stand. He washed his hair and soaped himself down, standing still so that the shower could wash away the worst of the night's excesses. He rubbed at his eyes; his fingertips came away smudged with black. He leaned his forehead against the tiles and tried to remember how to breathe.

 

He called Jon as soon as he thought Jon would be out of bed. Jon worked part time as a photographer's assistant in a department store; he took photos of babies in rocking chairs and families dressed in their best clothes. It wasn't the kind of photography that Jon had grown up wanting to do, but the money was enough that he could take his own photos in his own time. There was a pretty constant display of his work in their friend Tom's coffee shop. He sold a few pieces, every now and again. The only pictures Ryan had on his walls in Las Vegas were ones that Jon had taken.

"Hey," Jon said, sleepily. "How'd it go?"

Ryan, all of a sudden, couldn't speak.

"Ryan? You okay?"

Ryan swallowed, and then told Jon all about finding the application form and copies of his work and Spencer not telling him he'd applied on his behalf.

He told Jon how angry he was and how betrayed he felt and how he'd stormed out of Spencer's apartment in just his jeans and his shirt, carrying his shoes and walking barefoot through the hallways.

Jon listened, and then when Ryan had finally worn himself out, he said, "What did Spencer say when you found out?"

Ryan shrugged. "That he'd meant it as a surprise, that he was _sorry_ , that I was worth more than just his stupid secretary-"

"You _are_ ," Jon said, fiercely.

"What?" Ryan stilled, sinking down onto the edge of the couch, kicking a pile of clothes out of the way.

"Come on," Jon said. "You hate it. You _really_ hate it. You've only stuck it out so long so you can stare at Spencer's ass."

"My dad-" Ryan said, weakly.

"Leave your dad out of this," Jon went on. "I know why you're doing it and I fucking love you for it, but don't pretend you shouldn't be doing something else. You should. Your dad would hate it if he knew what you were putting yourself through. You stuck out college when you hated it, you've stuck at crappy jobs ever since because you're looking after your dad. You're the best fucking person I know, Ryan, but you deserve _more_."

"There's nothing wrong with being a secretary-" Ryan said weakly. His fingers shook.

"Sure there isn't. But you hate it. It's killing you. You're the only one who doesn't see it, Ry."

"Are you saying you agree with what Spencer did?"

"No." Jon sighed. "Look, I know you and how you hide your fucking writing away like it's something to be ashamed of. I'd never do it the way Spencer did it and he was a fucking ass for doing it behind your back, but if it means you finally get to do something you should have done when you were eighteen, then fuck it. I'll come to Vegas myself and send the forms in."

"It fucking hurts," Ryan said softly. "He took my stuff, Jon." He picked at the skin by his thumbnail and stared down at his toes. He felt like he'd been laid bare without anyone asking his permission; his writing was private, an extension of himself, not something for public consumption. And that Spencer—Spencer, who was supposed to care about Ryan, who had said only last night that he thought he could fall in love with Ryan—that Spencer could have been the one to break his trust... His heart ached.

"He screwed up," Jon told him. "But maybe he had the right reasons. Look, how was the rest of your date?"

"Pretty fucking perfect," Ryan said, rubbing at his forehead. "He's a pretty incredible guy."

Jon sighed. "Look, I know you're pissed at him. It sounds like he was trying to do something nice, though. Maybe you should just go and tell him never to do it again. See if you can't get past it."

"Uh-huh," Ryan said. "Maybe."

"I've got to go, Ry. Brendon's a fucking idiot and he left his lunch here. I've got to go and drop it off before I go to work."

Ryan managed a smile. "You're so whipped, Jon Walker."

"Worship the fucking ground he walks on, yeah, I know." There was a long pause. "I love you," Jon said.

Ryan sighed. "Yeah, me too."

Jon clicked off and Ryan was left staring down at his phone.

 

Ryan dressed slowly, in jeans and a t-shirt. He applied eyeliner carefully, smudging it under each eye. He didn't bother straightening his hair and it hung in waves round his face. He kind of liked it, actually. Maybe he'd keep it like that, maybe team it with a scarf. Maybe he'd just sort of play around and see what he could come up with.

He took a deep breath, and then he went to see Spencer.

 

When Ryan got to the office, it was just past lunchtime; there was a temp sitting at his desk. She was flicking through a magazine and filing her nails. The blind on the window through to Spencer's office was closed.

"Are you here to see Mr. Smith?" She had Spencer's calendar up on the computer screen; he'd never seen her before and clearly she didn't recognize him either. "He hasn't got anything in his calendar."

"It's um," he scratched his forehead. "It's kind of impromptu. Is he in his office?"

She nodded. "He is, but he's like a bear with a sore head today," she confided. "You might want to come back tomorrow."

He shook his head. "No," he said. "I'll just go through."

"I'll have to buzz you through," she told him, picking up her phone.

Ryan ignored her and didn't even bother knocking on Spencer's door, just walking on in, leaving the temp mouthing behind him.

"Normally we knock," Spencer said, icily, without looking up from his desk. He was staring down at an open folder of papers. The same folder Ryan had left there the previous evening, before he'd rushed off to get ready for their date.

"I kind of figured you wouldn't mind," Ryan said.

Spencer's head shot up and he was up and out of his chair in a moment. He looked pretty wretched, actually, not his normal well-dressed self at all. "God, Ryan," he said. "Look, I'm really sorry," he went on, standing just at the corner of his desk. "I never meant to do anything to hurt you, I just. I'm an idiot, okay? I didn't think. I never thought about what it might seem like to you-"

"You should have told me," Ryan said, softly. "You really should have fucking told me."

"I know," Spencer said, nodding. "I really, really know that."

"You shouldn't have done it behind my back." Ryan swallowed. "You should never have taken my writing and sent it off. My writing is really fucking personal to me. Some parts aren't for public consumption."

"I've called the office that deals with the bursary," Spencer said. "They're all in meetings but they're going to get back to me and I'm going to retract the application."

Ryan shook his head. "You don't have to do that," he said. He'd thought about it all morning, mulling over what Jon had said and how Spencer had looked when he'd realized Ryan had been angry with him. About how Ryan had felt when Spencer had come over to his apartment at the weekend and told him how much he'd loved his writing. He'd felt a thrill that hadn't just been down to how he felt about Spencer. He spent so much of his time curled up with a notebook or with his laptop; it never seemed like a chore to him and compared to how he felt when he had to get up in the morning to come to work—well. He knew which he'd prefer to do. He just couldn't quite get his head around the idea that Spencer had known that about him too.

"I don't?" The hint of a smile worried at the corner of Spencer's mouth.

"No," Ryan said, biting his lip. "I'm sorry I freaked out. Jon kind of persuaded me that you were doing it for the right reasons, even if you went about it the wrong way. Maybe-" he took a deep breath. "Maybe this isn't such a bad idea, me getting into writing."

Spencer let out a deep breath. "Ryan-" he said. He swallowed, checking himself. "Look, I'm really fucking sorry for applying without checking with you first. I got so caught up in the idea that you'd try and talk yourself out of it that I never even thought about what it might mean to you to have your work sent out without your permission." He swallowed again, awkwardly touching at his shirt. "If you'll give me another chance, I promise I won't fuck up like this again." He looked up, and caught Ryan's gaze. "I won't ever go behind your back again, Ryan," he said. "I promise."

Ryan nodded awkwardly, hands fisting in his pockets.

Spencer didn't drop his gaze. "I'm really pleased you've decided to go ahead with the application," he said, quietly. "You're a really talented writer. Whether or not you want to give me another chance."

Ryan took a deep breath. He couldn't imagine a life without Spencer anymore; he'd only stuck this stupid job out for so long because he'd liked working with him. Spencer bought Ryan books and listened to old Blink-182 albums and didn't seem to mind when Ryan spent three hours making lists on the back of hotel napkins of all the books he _had_ to own and all the ones he definitely had to read before Ryan could even talk to him again. He sat through movies he didn't want to see and held Ryan's hand in public without even checking to see if anyone noticed. He looked at Ryan like he _liked_ him, like he was beginning to love him. It still hurt that Spencer had gone behind his back, but Ryan didn't want this to be the end.

"Maybe we could have a cup of coffee," Ryan said, holding out his hand for Spencer's mug. "I could make us both some. We could maybe, um, sit down and talk."

Spencer looked at him for a long moment. "Okay," he said, nodding awkwardly, reaching for his mug. "That would be good."

"Right," Ryan said, and taking Spencer's mug, he went out into the main office to put a fresh filter in the coffee machine. He added grounds and switched the machine on; the temp was still looking at him oddly. Spencer was just stood in the entrance to his office, watching him. Ryan couldn't help but watch back. "Five minutes," he said, to the temp. "Can you buzz through when the coffee's done?"

And then he went over to Spencer and took his hand, leading him back into his office and letting the door shut behind them.

"You're a complete fucking idiot," Ryan said, softly, pushing Spencer back against his desk. "You came so close to screwing everything up."

Spencer swallowed. "I haven't fucked everything up?"

Ryan shook his head. "No," he said, smoothing Spencer's hair back behind his ear. "Although I think we came pretty close." He pressed a kiss to Spencer's mouth. "I really don't want to stop doing this, though," he said, kissing him again. "I think we might have something worth holding onto."

Spencer kissed him back. "Me too," he said, in between kisses, "I think so too." Ryan tangled his fingers in Spencer's hair and Spencer stroked his hands down Ryan's back. "I'm so sorry I screwed up."

Ryan pulled away. "Apology accepted," he said seriously, meeting Spencer's eyes. "Okay?"

Spencer nodded. "Okay."

Ryan sighed against Spencer's mouth, touching his forehead to Spencer's. He nipped at Spencer's lip with his teeth.

Spencer kissed him again.

They kissed until the phone rang to let them know that their coffee was ready. Spencer instructed the temp to field his calls, and they took their coffees back into Spencer's office, sitting down in the comfortable seats in the corner with their knees touching.

"Your office has an amazing view," Ryan said, letting his coffee cool. Spencer's office had a pretty spectacular window onto the strip.

"Yeah," Spencer said, leaning back in his seat so he could put his coffee down onto the table. He reached for Ryan's hand.

Ryan smiled and ducked his head. He squeezed Spencer's hand, touching his ankle to Spencer's.

Spencer leaned in and kissed his jaw. "I think you might be the best thing that's ever happened to me, Ryan Ross."

Ryan flushed, leaning his head on Spencer's shoulder. "Yeah," he said. "You too."

Spencer smiled, and leaned in to kiss him.

 

Epilogue

 

"How are the plans going for my party?" Spencer asked, leaning over and pressing a kiss to Ryan's cheek.

"What party?" Ryan asked, smoothing his hair behind his ear and deliberately not meeting Spencer's gaze.

"My surprise one," Spencer said, with a grin. "Don't tell me there isn't going to be a leaving party for me, Ryan, I won't believe you." He left his briefcase on the floor by Ryan's desk and went over to the coffee pot, pouring them both a cup.

Ryan rolled his eyes. "You know that people are only coming because they want to check to see if the rumors are true."

Spencer laughed, coming and sitting on the edge of Ryan's desk and letting his knee bump into Ryan's as he passed the coffee over. "Well, they are, aren't they? I'm clearly stark raving insane to be quitting my job to go to cooking school."

Ryan shrugged. "I kind of think it's cute, actually."

"Oh yeah?" Spencer grinned, leaning in for another kiss.

"Yeah," Ryan nodded. "It's so much cooler to say my boyfriend's a chef than it is to say that he works for a casino. My cool rating just went through the roof."

"Uh-huh." Spencer downed half of his coffee in one gulp. "Are Jon and Brendon coming down for my party?"

"They wouldn't miss it for the world," Ryan told him, rolling his eyes. "They love hanging out with the VP."

"Yeah, yeah. Are they staying with us?" Spencer asked, stroking at the inside of Ryan's wrist, fingertips grazing his pulse point.

Ryan narrowed his eyes; Spencer knew by now just what effect that had on Ryan. "You," Ryan pointed his finger at his boyfriend, "are behaving unsuitably in the workplace."

"Soon to be ex-workplace," Spencer whispered, leaning in and kissing Ryan's jaw. "For both of us."

Ryan's application for the bi-annual _Pas de Cheval_ education bursary had been successful and he'd won out against all the other applicants for the scholarship. He'd made his application for the MFA in Creative Writing at the University of Nevada, and had been accepted. Ryan was leaving his job a few weeks after Spencer, who was taking part of the summer off to move into his new house before his course started at the end of August. The scholarship meant that—with some budgeting—Ryan would still be able to afford his dad's home nurse.

"Right now we both still work here," Ryan reminded him, "and anyone—including the VP—could walk through that door. And yes, Jon and Brendon are staying with you. Brendon wants to know if you'll buy him a pony."

"Staying with _us_ ," Spencer said again. "Your name is on the deeds too."

Ryan shrugged. It was still Spencer's house.

"It's yours too," Spencer told him, patiently. Ryan hated how Spencer seemed to be able to read his mind so well. "I bought it for us."

"It has a swimming pool," Ryan said grumpily. "I can't own a house with a pool."

"I hate the gym," Spencer said. "I hate the gym and I'm never going back, and I like to swim."

Ryan blinked. "You've been to the gym every morning since I started working here. You never once said you hated it."

"Well. I did. I do." Spencer shrugged. "It's our house, Ryan. Mine and yours." He stroked Ryan's cheek. "I love you," he went on, "and when you're a celebrated writer you can pay me back, if you feel you need to, or you can just accept it when I say what's mine is yours."

"Does this mean I can buy Brendon a pony?" Ryan asked.

"Buy him a whole fucking stable if it makes you happy," Spencer said, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Ryan's mouth.

Ryan laughed against Spencer's mouth, flipping open his cellphone.

"Hey, Brendon," he said, when Brendon answered his phone, "Guess what? How'd you like a pony?"

"Tell Spencer he has replaced Jon in my affections," Brendon said, decidedly. There was a clatter in the background and the definite sound of an affronted Jon. "But also tell him that I'll love him even more if the pony could be _purple_ -"

Ryan laughed and hung up. He nudged at Spencer's knee, tugging Spencer down so he could kiss him. "Brendon says he loves you," Ryan told him.

Spencer shrugged, kissing Ryan back. "All the best people do," he said, "right?"

Ryan laughed. "Yeah," he said, thumbs catching in Spencer's hair. "We do."

 

[the end]


End file.
